THE 
MEDITERRANEAN 


The 
MEDITERRANEAN 

Its  Storied  Cities  and  Venerable 
Ruins 

By 

T.  G.  Bonney,  E.  A.  R.  Ball,   H.  D, 

Traill,     Grant     Allen,     Arthur 

Griffiths  and  Robert  Brown 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PHOTOGRAVURES 


NEW  YORK 

James  pott  &  Company 
1907 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.  THE  PILLARS  OF  HERCULES,    .        .       .       .         i 

Portals  of  the  ancient  world — Bay  of  Tangier  at  sunrise — Tarifa — 
The  Rock  of  Gibraltar— Wonders  of  its  fortifications— After- 
jxm  promenade  in  the  Alameda  Gardens — Ascending  the  Rock 
—View  from  the  highest  point — The  Great  Siege — Ceuta,  the 
principal  Spanish  stronghold  on  the  Moorish  coast — The  rock 
of  many  names. 

II.  ALGIERS, 28 

"A  Pearl  set  in  Emeralds  "—Two  distinct  towns;  one  ancient, 
one  modern — The  Great  Mosque — A  Mohammedan  religious  fes- 
tival—Oriental life  in  perfection— The  road  to  Mustapha  Supe*- 
rieur — A  true  Moorish  villa  described — Women  praying  to  a 
sacred  tree — Excessive  rainfall. 

III.  MALAGA, 42 

A  nearly  perfect  climate — Continuous  existence  of  thirty  cen- 
turies— Granada  and  the  world-renowned  Alhambra — Systems  of 
irrigation — Vineyards  the  chief  source  of  wealth — Esparto  grass 
—The  famous  Cape  de  Gatt— The  highest  peak  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada — Last  view  of  Granada. 

IV.  BARCELONA, 61 

The  flower  market  of  the  Rambla— Streets  of  the  old  town— The 
Cathedral  of  Barcelona — Description  of  the  Columbus  monu- 
ment—All Saints'  Day  in  Spain— Mont  Tibidaho— Diverse  cen- 
ters of  intellectual  activity — Ancient  history — Philanthropic  and 
charitable  institutions. 

V.  MARSEILLES, 94 

Its  Greek  founders  and  early  history — Superb  view  from  the  sea 
—The  Cannebiere— The  Prado  and  Chemin  de  la  Corniche— 
Chateau  d'lf  and  Monte-Cristo  —  Influence  of  the  Greeks  in 
Marseilles— Ravages  by  plague  and  pestilence— Treasures  of 
the  Palais  des  Arts— The  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde 
—The  new  Marseilles  and  its  future. 

VI.  NICE, 124 

The  Queen  of  the  Riviera— The  Port  of  Limpia— Castle  Hill- 
Promenade  des  Anglais — The  Carnival  and  Battle  of  Flowers 
—Place  Massdna,  the  center  of  business— Beauty  of  the  suburbs 


vi  CONTENTS 

?AGE 

—The  road  to  Monte  Carlo— The  quaintly  picturesque  town  of 
Villefranche— Aspects  of  Nice  and  its  environs. 

VII.  THE   RIVIERA, 145 

In  the  days  of  the  Doges— Origin  of  the  name— The  blue  bay 
of  Cannes— Ste.  Marguerite  and  St.  Honorat— Historical  asso- 
ciations— The  Rue  L'Antibes — The  rock  of  Monaco — "  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Roulette  " — From  Monte  Carlo  to  Mentone — San 
Remo — A  romantic  railway. 

VIII.  GENOA,      .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .      160 

Early  history — Old  fortifications — The  rival  of  Venice — Changes 
of  twenty-five  years— From  the  parapet  of  the  Corso— The  lower 
town — The  Genoese  palazzi — Monument  to  Christopher  Colum- 
bus— The  old  Dogana — Memorials  in  the  Campo  Santo — The 
Bay  of  Spezzia— The  Isola  Palmeria— Harbor  scenes. 

IX.  THE  TUSCAN  COAST, 192 

Shelley's  last  months  at  Lerici— Story  of  his  death— Carrara  and 
its  marble  quarries— Pisa — Its  grand  group  of  ecclesiastical 
buildings— The  cloisters  of  the  Campo  Santo— Napoleon's  life 
on  Elba — Origin  of  the  Etruscans — The  ruins  of  Tarquinii — 
Civita  Vecchia,  the  old  port  of  Rome — Ostia. 

X.  VENICE, 220 

Its  early  days— The  Grand  Canal  and  its  palaces— Piazza  of  St. 
Mark— A  Venetian  funeral— The  long  line  of  islands— Venetian 
glass— Torcello,  the  ancient  Altinum— Its  two  unique  churches. 

XI.  ALEXANDRIA, 234 

The  bleak  and  barren  shores  of  the  Nile  Delta— Peculiar  shape 
of  the  city— Strange  and  varied  picture  of  Alexandrian  street 
life— The  Place  Mehemet  Ali— Glorious  panorama  from  the 
Cairo  citadel— Pompey's  Pillar— The  Battle  of  the  Nile— Dis- 
covery of  the  famous  inscribed  stone  at  Rosetta — Port  Said 
and  the  Suez  Canal. 

XII.  MALTA,       .  267 

"  England's  Eye  in  the  Mediterranean  "—Vast  systems  of  forti- 
fications— Sentinels  and  martial  music — The  Strada  Reale  of 
Valletta— Church  of  St.  John— St.  Elmo— The  Military  Hos- 
pital, the  "very  glory  of  Malta  "— Citta  Vecchia— Saint  Paul 
and  his  voyages. 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

XIII.  SICILY, 295 

Scylla  and  Charybdis — Messina,  the  chief  commercial  center  of 
Sicily— The  magnificent  ruins  of  the  Greek  Theater  at  Taor- 
mina— Omniprescence  of  Mt.  Etna— Approach  to  Syracuse— 
The  famous  Latomia  del  Paradise— Girgenti,  the  City  of  Tem- 
ples— Railway  route  to  Palermo — Mosaics — Cathedral  and 
Abbey  of  Monreale — Monte  Pellegrino  at  the  hour  of  sunset. 

XIV.  NAPLES, '.       ...      325 

The  Bay  of  Naples— Vesuvius— Characteristic  scenes  of  street 
•  life — The  al  fresco  restaurants — Chapel  of  St.  Januarius — Vir- 
gil's Tomb — Capri,  the  Mecca  of  artists  and  lovers  of  the 
picturesque — The  Emperor  Tiberius — Description  of  the  Blue 
Grotto — The  coast-road  from  Castellamare  to  Sorrento — Amain 
~Sorr«mto,  "  the  village  of  flowers  and  the  flower  of  villages  " 
—The  Temples  of  Paestum. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

CAPRI. — The  Marina  Grande Frontispiece 

PAGE 

GIBRALTAR. — View  from  the  Old  Mole 14 

ALGIERS. — Government  Square  and  the  Street,  La  Marine      .         .     28 

ALGIERS. — Interior  of  the  Governor's  Palace 36 

MALAGA, — General  View  from  Castle 52 

BARCELONA. — View  of  Harbor       .......     70 

MARSEILLES. — Panorama  of  the  Old  Port 98 

NICE. — Promenade  des  Anglais 132 

THE  RIVIERA. — San  Remo .        .158 

GENOA. — The  Doria  Palace — Garden  and  Doorway  .  .  .172 
THE  TUSCAN  COAST. — Pisa  —  Cathedral  Square  and  Monuments  .  198 
VENICE. — The  Piazza  of  St.  Mark  .......  226 

ALEXANDRIA. — General  View  of  the  City 240 

ALEXANDRIA. — Scene  on  Canal 260 

MALTA. — General  View 274 

SICILY. — View  of  Taormina  and  Mt.  Etna 298 

NAPLES. — Panorama  from  Virgil's  Tomb 334 


The 
Mediterranean 


THE   PILLARS   OF   HERCULES 

Portals  of  the  ancient  world— Bay  of  Tangier  at  sunrise— Tarifa 
— The  Rock  of  Gibraltar — Wonders  of  its  fortifications — 
Afternoon  promenade  in  the  Alameda  Gardens — Ascending 
the  Rock — View  from  the  highest  point — The  Great  Siege — 
Ceuta,  the  principal  Spanish  stronghold  on  the  Moorish 
coast — The  rock  of  many  names. 

THE  "  Pillars  of  Hercules !  "  The  portals  of  the 
Ancient  World!  To  how  many  a  traveller  just 
beginning  to  tire  of  his  week  on  the  Atlantic, 
or  but  slowly  recovering,  it  may  be,  in  his  tranquil 
voyage  along  the  coasts  of  Portugal  and  Southern  Spain, 
from  the  effects  of  thirty  unquiet  hours  in  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  has  the  nearing  view  of  this  mighty  landmark 
of  history  brought  a  message  of  new  life!  That  dis- 
tant point  ahead,  at  which  the  narrowing  waters  of 'the 
Strait  that  bears  him  disappear  entirely  within  the  clasp 
of  the  embracing  shores,  is  for  many  such  a  traveller  the 
beginning  of  romance.  He  gazes  upon  it  from  the  west- 
ward with  some  dim  reflection  of  that  mysterious  awe 
with  which  antiquity  looked  upon  it  from  the  East.  The 

I 


2  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

progress  of  the  ages  has,  in  fact,  transposed  the  center 
of  human  interest  and  the  human  point  of  view.  Now, 
as  in  the  Homeric  era,  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  form  the 
gateway  of  a  world  of  wonder;  but  for  us  of  to-day  it 
is  within  and  not  without  those  portals  that  that  world 
of  wonder  lies.  To  the  eye  of  modern  poetry  the  At- 
lantic and  Mediterranean  have  changed  places.  In  the 
waste  of  waters  stretching  westward  from  the  rock  of 
Calpe  and  its  sister  headland,  the  Greek  of  the  age  of 
Homer  found  his  region  of  immemorial  poetic  legend 
and  venerable  religious  myth,  and  peopled  it  with  the 
gods  and  heroes  of  his  traditional  creed.  Here,  on  the 
bosom  of  the  wide-winding  river  Oceanus,  lay  the  Islands 
of  the  Blest — that  abode  of  eternal  beauty  and  calm, 
where  "  the  life  of  mortals  is  most  easy,"  where  "  there 
is  neither  snow  nor  winter  nor  much  rain,  but  ocean  is 
ever  sending  up  the  shrilly  breezes  of  Zephyrus  to  re- 
fresh man."  But  for  us  moderns  who  have  explored 
this  mighty  "  river  Oceanus,"  this  unknown  and  mysteri- 
ous Atlantic  to  its  farthest  recesses,  the  glamor  of  its 
mystery  has  passed  away  for  ever ;  and  it  is  eastward 
and  not  westward,  through  the  "  Pillars  of  Hercules," 
that  we  now  set  our  sails  in  search  of  the  region  of 
romance.  It  is  to  the  basin  of  the  Mediterranean — 
fringed  with  storied  cities  and  venerable  ruins,  with  the 
crumbling  sanctuaries  of  a  creed  which  has  passed  away, 
and  the  monuments  of  an  art  which  is  imperishable — that 
man  turns  to-day.  The  genius  of  civilization  has  jour- 
neyed far  to  the  westward,  and  has  passed  through 
strange  experiences ;  it  returns  with  new  reverence  and 
a  deeper  awe  to  that  enclave  of  mid-Europe  which  con- 
tains its  birthplace,  and  which  is  hallowed  with  the  mem- 
ories of  its  glorious  youth.  The  grand  cliff-portal 


PHAROS  OF  TARIFA  3 

which  we  are  approaching  is  the  entrance,  the  thoughtful 
traveller  will  always  feel,  to  a  region  eternally  sacred 
in  the  history  of  man ;  to  lands  which  gave  birth  to  im- 
mortal models  of  literature  and  unerring  canons  of 
philosophic  truth;  to  shrines  and  temples  which  guard 
the  ashes  of  those  "  dead  but  sceptered  sovereigns  "  who 
"  rule  our  spirits  from  their  urns." 

As  our  vessel  steams  onward  through  the  rapidly 
narrowing  Straits,  the  eye  falls  upon  a  picturesque  ir- 
regular cluster  of  buildings  on  the  Spanish  shore,  where- 
from  juts  forth  a  rocky  tongue  of  land  surmounted  by  a 
tower.  It  is  the  Pharos  of  Tarifa,  and  in  another  half  / 
hour  we  are  close  enough  to  distinguish  the  exact  out- 
lines of  the  ancient  and  famous  city  named  of  Tarif  Ibn 
Malek,  the  first  Berber  sheikh  who  landed  in  Spain,  and 
itself,  it  is  said — though  some  etymologists  look  askance 
at  the  derivation — the  name-mother  of  a  word  which  is 
little  less '  terrible  to  the  modern  trader  than  was  this 
pirate's  nest  itself  to  his  predecessor  of  old  times.  The 
arms  of  Tarifa  are  a  castle  on  waves,  with  a  key  at  the 
window,  and  the  device  is  not  unaptly  symbolical  of 
her  mediaeval  history,  when  her  possessors  played  janitors 
of  the  Strait,  and  merrily  levied  blackmail — -the  irregular 
tariff  of  those  days — upon  any  vessel  which  desired  to 
pass.  The  little  town  itself  is  picturesquely  situated  in 
the  deepest  embrace  of  the  curving  Strait,  and  the  view 
looking  westward — with  the  lighthouse  rising  sharp  and 
sheer  against  the  sky,  from  the  jutting  cluster  of  rock 
and  building  about  its  base,  while  dimly  to  the  left  in 
the  farther  distance  lie  the  mountains  of  the  African 
coast,  descending  there  so  cunningly  behind  the  curve 
that  the  two  continents  seem  to  touch  and  connect  the 
channel  into  a  lake — is  well  worth  attentive  study.  An 


4  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

interesting  spot,  too,  is  Tarifa,  as  well  as  a  picturesque 
—interesting  at  least  to  all  who  are  interested  either  in 
the  earlier  or  the  later  fortunes  of  post-Roman  Europe. 
It  played  its  part,  as  did  most  other  places,  on  this  com- 
mon battle-ground  of  Aryan  and  Semite,  in  the  secular 
struggle  between  European  Christendom  and  the  Mo- 
hammedan East.  And  again,  centuries  later,  it  was 
heard  of  in  the  briefer  but  more  catastrophic  struggle 
of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  From  the  day  when  Alonzo 
Perez  de  Guzman  threw  his  dagger  down  from  its  battle- 
ments in  disdainful  defiance  of  the  threat  to  murder 
his  son,  dragged  bound  before  him  beneath  its  walls  by 
traitors,  it  is  a  "  far  cry  "  to  the  day  when  Colonel  Gough 
of  the  8;th  (the  "  Eagle-Catchers  ")  beat  off  Marshal 
Victor's  besieging  army  of  1,800  strong,  and  relieved 
General  Campbell  and  his  gallant  little  garrison;  but 
Tarifa  has  seen  them  both,  and  it  is  worth  a  visit  not 
only  for  the  sake  of  the  ride  from  it  over  the  mountains 
to  Algeciras  and  Gibraltar,  but  for  its  historical  asso- 
ciations also,  and  for  its  old-world  charm. 

We  have  taken  it,  as  we  propose  also  to  take  Tangier, 
a  little  out  of  its  turn ;  for  the  voyaging  visitor  to  Gibral- 
tar is  not  very  likely  to  take  either  of  these  two  places 
on  his  way.  It  is  more  probable  that  he  will  visit  them, 
the  one  by  land  and  the  other  by  sea,  from  the  Rock 
itself.  But  Tangier  in  particular  it  is  impossible  to  pass 
without  a  strong  desire  to  make  its  acquaintance  straight- 
way; so  many  are  the  attractions  which  draw  the  trav- 
eller to  this  some-time  appanage  of  the  British  Crown, 
this  African  pied  a  terre,  which  but  for  the  insensate 
feuds  and  factions  of  the  Restoration  period  might  be 
England's  to-day.  There  are  few  more  enchanting  sights 
than  that  of  the  Bay  of  Tangier  as  it  appears  at  sun- 


TANGIER  5 

rise  to  the  traveller  whose  steamer  has  dropped  down 
the  Straits  in  the  afternoon  and  evening  hours  of  the 
previous  day  and  cast  anchor  after  nightfall  at  the  nearest 
point  off  shore  to  which  a  vessel  of  any  draught  can 
approach.  Nowhere  in  the  world  does  a  nook  of  such 
sweet  tranquillity  receive,  and  for  a  season,  quiet,  the 
hurrying  waters  of  so  restless  a  sea.  Half  a  mile  or 
so  out  towards  the  center  of  the  Strait,  a  steamer  from 
Gibraltar  has  to  plough  its  way  through  the  surface 
currents  which  speed  continually  from  the  Atlantic  to- 
wards the  Pillars  of  Hercules  and  the  Mediterranean 
beyond.  Here,  under  the  reddening  daybreak,  all  is  calm. 
The  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  now  softly  flushing  at  the 
approach  of  sunrise,  break  lazily  in  mimic  waves  and 
"  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray  "  upon  the  shi- 
ning beach.  To  the  right  lies  the  city,  spectral  in  the 
dawn,  save  where  the  delicate  pale  ivory  of  some  of  its 
higher  houses  is  warming  into  faintest  rose ;  while  over 
all,  over  sea  and  shore  and  city,  is  the  immersing  crystal 
atmosphere  of  Africa,  in  which  every  rock,  every  ripple, 
every  housetop,  stands  out  as  sharp  and  clear  as  the 
filigree  work  of  winter  on  a  frosted  pane. 

Nothing  in  Tangier,  it  must  be  honestly  admitted,  will 
compare  with  the  approach  to  it  by  its  incomparable  bay. 
In  another  sense,  too,  there  is  nothing  here  or  else- 
where which  exactly  resembles  this  "  approach,"  since 
its  last  stage  of  all  has  to  be  performed  alike  for  man 
and  woman — unless  man  is  prepared  to  wade  knee-deep 
in  the  clear  blue  water — on  the  back  of  a  sturdy  Moor. 
Once  landed,  he  will  find  that  the  picturesqueness  of 
Tangier,  like  that  of  most  Eastern  cities,  diminishes 
rather  than  increases  on  a  nearer  view.  A  walk  through 
its  main  street  yields  nothing  particularly  worthy  of 


6  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

note,  unless  it  be  the  minaret  of  the  Djama-el-Kebir, 
the  principal  mosque  of  the  city.  The  point  to  which 
every  visitor  to  Tangier  directs  his  steps,  or  has  them 
directed  for  him,  is  the  Bab-el-Sok,  the  gate  of  the 
market  place,  where  the  scene  to  be  witnessed  at  early 
morning  presents  an  unequaled  picture  of  Oriental  life. 
Crouching  camels  with  their  loads  of  dates,  chaffering 
traders,  chattering  women,  sly  and  servile  looking  Jews 
from  the  city,  fierce-eyed,  heavily  armed  children  of  the 
desert,  rough-coated  horses,  and  the  lank-sided  mules, 
withered  crones  squatting  in  groups  by  the  wayside, 
tripping  damsels  ogling  over  the  yashmak  as  they  pass, 
and  the  whole  enveloped  in  a  blinding,  bewildering,  chok- 
ing cloud  of  such  dust  as  only  Africa,  "  arida  nutrix," 
can  produce — such  dust  as  would  make  the  pulverulent 
particles  of  the  dryest  of  turnpikes  in  the  hottest  of  sum- 
mers, and  under  the  most  parching  of  east  winds,  appear 
by  comparison  moist  and  cool,  and  no  more  than  pleas- 
ingly titillatory  of  the  mouth  and  nostrils — let  the  reader 
picture  to  himself  such  a  scene  with  such  accessories,  and 
he  will  know  what  spectacle  awaits  him  at  early  morn- 
ing at  the  Bab-el-Sok  of  Tangier. 

But  we  must  resume  our  journey  eastward  towards 
the  famous  "  Rock."  There  at  last  it  is !  There  "  dawns 
Gibraltar  grand  and  gray,"  though  Mr.  Browning  strains 
poetic  license  very  hard  in  making  it  visible  even  "  in 
the  dimmest  north-east  distance,"  to  a  poet  who  was  at 
that  moment  observing  how  "  sunset  ran  one  glorious 
blood-red  recking  into  Cadiz  Bay."  We,  at  any  rate, 
are  far  enough  away  from  Cadiz  before  it  dawns  upon 
us  in  all  its  Titanic  majesty  of  outline;  grand,  of  course, 
with  the  grandeur  of  Nature,  and  yet  with  a  certain 
strange  air  of  human  menace  as  of  some  piece  of  At- 


THE 'ROCK  7 

lantean  ordnance  planted  and  pointed  by  the  hand  of 
man.  This  "  armamental  "  appearance  of  the  Rock — a 
look  visible,  or  at  any  rate  imaginable  in  it,  long  before 
we  have  approached  it  closely  enough  to  discern  its  actual 
fortifications,  still  less  its  artillery — is  much  enhanced 
by  the  dead  flatness  of  the  land  from  which  its  western 
wall  arises  sheer,  and  with  which  by  consequence  it 
seems  to  have  no  closer  physical  connection  than  has  a 
gun-carriage  with  the  parade  ground  on  which  it  stands. 
As  we  draw  nearer  this  effect  increases  in  intensity.  The 
surrounding  country  seems  to  sink  and  recede  around  it, 
and  the  Rock  appears  to  tower  ever  higher  and  higher, 
and  to  survey  the  Strait  and  the  two  continents,  divided 
by  it  with  a  more  and  more  formidable  frown.  As  we 
approach  the  port,  however,  this  impression  gives  place 
to  another,  and  the  Rock,  losing  somewhat  of  its  "  natural- 
fortress  "  air,  begins  to  assume  that  resemblance  to  a 
couchant  lion  which  has  been  so  often  noticed  in  it.  Yet 
alas !  for  the  so-called  famous  "  leonine  aspect  "  of  the 
famous  height,  or  alas !  at  least  for  the  capricious  work- 
ings of  the  human  imagination!  For  while  to  the  com- 
piler of  one  well-reputed  guidebook,  the  outlines  of 
Gibraltar  seem  "  like  those  of  a  lion  asleep,  and  whose 
head,  somewhat  truncated,  is  turned  towards  Africa  as 
if  with  a  dreamy  and  steadfast  deep  attention ;  "  to  an- 
other and  later  observer  the  lion  appears  to  have  "  his 
kingly  head  turned  towards  Spain,  as  if  in  defiance  of 
his  former  master,  every  feature  having  the  character 
of  leonine  majesty  and  power !  "  The  truth  is,  of  course, 
that  the  Rock  assumes  entirely  different  aspects,  accord- 
ing as  it  is  looked  at  from  different  points  of  view.  There 
is  certainly  a  point  from  which  Gibraltar  may  be  made, 
by  the  exercise  of  a  little  of  Polonius's  imagination,  to 


8  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

resemble  some  couchant  animal  with  its  head  turned 
towards  Africa — though  "  a  head  somewhat  truncated," 
is  as  odd  a  phrase  as  a  "  body  somewhat  decapitated  " — • 
and  contemplating  that  continent  with  what  we  may 
fancy,  if  we  choose,  to  be  "  dreamy  and  steadfast  atten- 
tion." But  the  resemblance  is,  at  best,  but  a  slender  one, 
and  a  far-fetched.  The  really  and  strikingly  leonine 
aspect  of  Gibraltar  is  undoubtedly  that  which  it  presents 
to  the  observer  as  he  is  steaming  towards  the  Rock  from 
the  west,  but  has  not  yet  come  into  full  view  of  the 
slope  on  which  the  town  is  situated.  No  one  can  possibly 
mistake  the  lion  then.  His  head  is  distinctly  turned  to- 
wards Spain,  and  what  is  more,  he  has  .1  foot  stretched 
out  towards  the  mainland,  as  though  in  token  of  his 
mighty  grasp  upon  the  soil.  Viewed,  however,  from  the 
neutral  ground,  this  Protean  cliff  takes  on  a  new  shape 
altogether,  and  no  one  would  suppose  that  the  lines 
cf  that  sheer  precipice,  towering  up  into  a  jagged  pin- 
nacle, could  appear  from  any  quarter  to  melt  into  the 
blunt  and  massive  curves  which  mark  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  the  King  of  Beasts. 

At  last,  however,  we  are  in  the  harbor,  and  are  about 
to  land.  To  land !  How  little  does  that  phrase  convey 
to  the  inexperienced  in  sea  travel,  or  to  those  whose 
voyages  have  begun  and  ended  in  stepping  from  a  land- 
ing-stage on  to  a  gangway,  and  from  a  gangway  on  to 
a  deck,  and  vice-versa!  And  how  much  does  it  mean 
for  him  -to  whom  it  comes  fraught  with  recollections  of 
steep  descents,  of  heaving  seas,  of  tossing  cock-boats, 
perhaps  of  dripping  garments,  certainly  of  swindling 
boatmen !  There  are  disembarkations  in  which  you  come 
in  for  them  all;  but  not  at  Gibraltar,  at  least  under 
normal  circumstances.  The  waters  of  the  port  are  placid, 


GIBRALTAR  9 

and  from  most  of  the  many  fine  vessels  that  touch  there 
you  descend  by  a  ladder,  of  as  agreeable  an  inclination 
as  an  ordinary  flight  of  stairs.  All  you  have  to  fear  is 
the  insidious  bilingual  boatman,  who,  unless  you  strictly 
covenant  with  him  before  entering  his  boat,  will  have 
you  at  his  mercy.  It  is  true  that  he  has  a  tariff,  and 
that  you  might  imagine  that  the  offense  of  exceeding  it 
would  be  punished  in  a  place  like  Gibraltar  by  imme- 
diate court-martial  and  execution ;  but  the  traveller  should 
not  rely  upon  this.  There  is  a  deplorable  relaxation  of 
the  bonds  of  discipline  all  over  the  world.  Moreover, 
it  is  wise  to  agree  with  the  boatmen  for  a  certain  fixed 
sum,  as  a  salutary  check  upon  undue  liberality.  Most 
steamers  anchor  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
shore,  and  on  a  hot  day  one  might  be  tempted  by  false 
sentiment  to  give  the  boatman  an  excessive  fee. 

Your  hosts  at  Gibraltar — "  spoiling  "  as  they  always 
are  for  the  sight  of  new  civilian  faces — show  themselves 
determined  from  the  first  to  make  you  at  home.  Private 
Thomas  Atkins  on  sentry  duty  grins  broad  welcome  to 
you  from  the  Mole.  The  official  to  whom  you  have  to 
give  account  of  yourself  and  your  belongings  greets 
you  with  a  pleasant  smile,  and,  while  your  French  or 
Spanish  fellow-traveller  is  strictly  interrogated  as  to 
his  identity,  profession,  purpose  of  visit,  &c.,  your  Eng- 
lish party  is  passed  easily  and  promptly  in,  as  men  "at 
home  "  upon  the  soil  which  they  are  treading.  Fortunate 
is  it,  if  a  little  bewildering,  for  the  visitor  to  arrive  at 
midday,  for  before  he  has  made  his  way  from  the  land- 
ing-place to  his  hotel  he  will  have  seen  a  sight  which  has 
few  if  any  parallels  in  the  world.  Gibraltar  has  its  nar- 
row, quiet,  sleepy  alleys  as  have  all  Southern  towns ;  and 
any  one  who  confined  himself  to  strolling  through  and 


io  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

along  these,  and  avoiding  the  main  thoroughfare,  might 
never  discover  the  strangely  cosmopolitan  character  of 
the  place.  He  must  walk  up  Waterport  Street  at  midday 
I/in  order  to  see  what  Gibraltar  really  is — a  conflux  of 
nations,  a  mart  of  races,  an  Exchange  for  all  the  multi- 
tudinous varieties  of  the  human  product.  Europe,  Asia, 
and  Africa  meet  and  jostle  in  this  singular  highway. 
Tall,  stately,  slow-pacing  Moors  from  the  north-west 
coast ;  white-turbaned  Turks  from  the  eastern  gate  of  the 
Mediterranean ;  thick-lipped,  and  woolly-headed  negroids 
from  the  African  interior;  quick-eyed,  gesticulating  Le- 
vantine Greeks ;  gabardined  Jews,  and  black-wimpled 
Jewesses;  Spanish  smugglers,  and  Spanish  sailors; 
"  rock-scorpions,"  and  red-coated  English  soldiers — all 
these  compose,  without  completing,  the  motley  moving 
crowd  that  throngs  the  main  street  of  Gibraltar  in  the 
forenoon,  and  gathers  densest  of  all  in  the  market  near 
Commercial  Square. 

It  is  hardly  then  as  a  fortress,  but  rather  as  a  great 
entrepot  of  traffic,  that  Gibraltar  first  presents  itself  to 
the  newly-landed  visitor.  He  is  now  too  close  beneath 
its  frowning  batteries  and  dominating  walls  of  rock  to 
feel  their  strength  and  menace  so  impressive  as  at  a 
distance;  and  the  flowing  tide  of  many-colored  life 
around  him  overpowers  the  senses  and  the  imagination 
alike.  He  has  to  seek  the  outskirts  of  the  town  on  either 
side  in  order  to  get  the  great  Rock  again,  either  physically 
or  morally,  into  proper  focus.  And  even  before  he  sets 
out  to  try  its  height  and  steepness  by  the  ancient,  if  un- 
scientific, process  of  climbing  it — nay,  before  he  even 
proceeds  to  explore  under  proper  guidance  its  mighty 
elements  of  military  strength — he  will  discover  perhaps 
that  sternness  is  not  its  only  feature.  Let  him  stroll 


THE  FORTIFICATIONS  n 

round  in  the  direction  of  the  race-course  to  the  north  of 
the  Rock,  and  across  the  parade-ground,  which  lies  be- 
tween the  town  and  the  larger  area  on  which  the  reviews 
and  field-day  evolutions  take  place,  and  he  will  not  com- 
plain of  Gibraltar  as  wanting  in  the  picturesque.  The 
bold  cliff,  beneath  which  stands  a  Spanish  cafe,  descends 
in  broken  and  irregular,  but  striking,  lines  to  the  plain, 
and  it  is  fringed  luxuriantly  from  stair  to  stair  with  the 
vegetation  of  the  South.  Marching  and  counter-march- 
ing under  the  shadow  of  this  lofty  wall,  the  soldiers  show 
from  a  little  distance  like  the  tin  toys  of  the  nursery, 
and  one  knows  not  whether  to  think  most  of  the  physical 
insignificance  of  man  beside  the  brute  bulk  of  Nature, 
or  of  the  moral — or  immoral — power  which  has  enabled 
him  to  press  into  his  service  even  the  vast  Rock  which 
stands  there  beetling  and  lowering  over  him,  and  to  turn 
the  blind  giant  into  a  sort  of  Titanic  man-at-arms. 

Such  reflections  as  these,  however,  would  probably 
whet  a  visitor's  desire  to  explore  the  fortifications  with- 
out delay;  and  the  time  for  that  is  not  yet.  The  town 
and  its  buildings  have  first  to  be  inspected ;  the  life  of 
the  place,  both  in  its  military  and — such  as  there  is  of  it 
—its  civil  aspect,  must  be  studied;  though  this,  truth  to 
tell,  will  not  engage  even  the  minutest  observer  very  long. 
Gibraltar  is  not  famous  for  its  shops,  or  remarkable,  in- 
deed, as  a  place  to  buy  anything,  except  tobacco,  which, 
as  the  Spanish  Exchequer  knows  to  its  cost  (and  the 
Spanish  Customs'  officials  on  the  frontier  too,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  their  advantage),  is  both  cheap  and  good.  Busi- 
ness, however,  of  all  descriptions  is  fairly  active,  as  might 
be  expected,  when  we  recollect  that  the  town  is  pretty 
populous  for  its  size,  and  numbers  some  20,000  inhabi- 
tants, in  addition  to  its  garrison  of  from  5,000  to  6,000 


12  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

men.  With  all  its  civil  activity,  however,  the  visitor  is 
scarcely  likely  to  forget — for  any  length  of  time — that 
he  is  in  a  '•  place  of  arms."  Not  to  speak  of  the  shocks 
communicated  to  his  unaccustomed  nerves  by  morning 
and  evening  gun-fire;  not  to  speak  of  the  thrilling  fan- 
fare of  the  bugles,  executed  as  only  the  bugler  of  a  crack 
English  regiment  can  execute  it,  and  echoed  and  re- 
echoed to  and  fro,  from  face  to  face  of  the  Rock,  there 
is  an  indefinable  air  of  stern  order,  of  rigid  discipline, 
of  authority  whose  word  is  law,  pervading  everything. 
As  the  day  wears  on  toward  the  evening  this  aspect  of 
things  becomes  more  and  more  unmistakable;  and  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  gates,  towards  the  hour  of  gun- 
fire, you  may  see  residents  hastening  in,  and  non-resi- 
dents quickening  the  steps  of  their  departure,  lest  the 
boom  of  the  fatal  cannon-clock  should  confine  or  exclude 
them  for  the  night.  After  the  closing  of  the  gates  it  is 
still  permitted  for  a  few  hours  to  perambulate  the  streets ; 
but  at  midnight  this  privilege  also  ceases,  and  no  one 
is  allowed  out  of  doors  without  a  night-pass.  On  the 
3  ist  of  December  a  little  extra  indulgence  is  allowed. 
One  of  the  military  bands  will  perhaps  parade  the  main 
thoroughfare  discoursing  the  sweet  strains  of  "  Auld 
Lang  Syne,"  and  the  civil  population  are  allowed  to  "  see 
the  old  year  out  and  the  new  year  in."  But  a  timid  and 
respectful  cheer  is  their  sole  contribution  to  the  cere- 
mony, and  at  about  12.15  they  are  marched  off  again 
to  bed :  such  and  so  vigilant  are  the  precautions  against 
treachery  within  the  walls,  or  surprise  from  without.  In 
Gibraltar,  undoubtedly,  you  experience  something  of  the 
sensations  of  men  who  are  living  in  a  state  of  siege,  or 
of  those  Knights  of  Branksome  who  ate  and  drank  in 


THE  ALAMEDA  13 

armor,   and   lay   down   to   rest   with  corslet  laced,  and 
with  the  buckler  for  a  pillow. 

The  lions  of  the  town  itself,  as  distinguished  from  the 
wonders  of  its  fortifications,  are  few  in  number.  The 
Cathedral,  the  Garrison  Library,  Government  House,  the 
Alameda  Gardens,  the  drive  to  Europa  Point  exhaust  the 
list ;  and  there  is  but  one  of  these  which  is  likely  to  invite 
— unless  for  some  special  purpose  or  other — a  repetition 
of  the  visit.  In  the  Alameda,  however,  a  visitor  may 
spend  many  a  pleasant  hour,  and — if  the  peace  and  beauty 
of  a  hillside  garden,  with  the  charms  of  subtropical  vege- 
tation in  abundance  near  at  hand,  and  noble  views  of 
coast  and  sea  in  the  distance  allure  him — he  assuredly 
will.  Gibraltar  is  immensely  proud  of  its  promenade, 
and  it  has  good  reason  to  be  so.  From  the  point  of  view 
of  Nature  and  of  Art  the  Alameda  is  an  equal  success. 
General  Don,  who  planned  and  laid  it  out  some  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  ago,  unquestionably  earned  a  title 
to  the  same  sort  of  tribute  as  was  bestowed  upon  a  famous 
military  predecessor,  Marshal  Wade.  Anyone  who  had 
"  seen  "  the  Alameda  "  before  it  was  made,"  might  well 
have  "  lifted  up  his  hands  and  blessed  "  the  gallant  officer1 
who  had  converted  "  the  Red  Sands,"  as  the  arid  desert 
once  occupying  this  spot  was  called,  into  the  paradise  of 
geranium-trees  which  has  taken  its  place.  Its  monu- 
ments to  Elliot  and  Wellington  are  not  ideal :  the  mysteri- 
ous curse  pronounced  upon  English  statuary  appears  to 
follow  it  even  beyond  seas;  but  the  execution  of  the  effi- 
gies of  these  national  heroes  may,  perhaps,  be  forgotten 
in  the  interest  attaching  to  their  subjects.  The  residents 
at  any  rate,  whether  civil  or  military,  are  inured  to  these 
efforts  of  the  sculptor's  art,  and  have  long  since  ceased 


14  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  repine.  And  the  afternoon  promenade  in  these  gardens 
— with  the  English  officers  and  their  wives  and  daugh- 
ters, English  nursemaids  and  their  charges,  tourists  of 
both  sexes  and  all  ages,  and  the  whole  surrounded  by  a 
polyglot  and  polychromatic  crowd  of  Oriental  listeners 
to  the  military  band — is  a  sight  well  worth  seeing  and 
not  readily  to  be  forgotten. 

But  we  must  pursue  our  tour  round  the  peninsula  of 
the  Rock;  and  leaving  the  new  Mole  on  our  right,  and 
farther  on  the  little  land-locked  basin  of  Rosia  Bay,  we 
pass  the  height  of  Buena  Vista,  crowned  with  its  bar- 
racks, and  so  on  to  the  apex  of  the  promontory,  Europa 
Point.  Here  are  more  barracks  and,  here  on  Europa 
Flats,  another  open  and  level  space  for  recreation  and 
military  exercises  beneath  the  cliff  wall.  Doubling  the 
point,  and  returning  for  a  short  distance  along  the  eastern 
side  of  the  promontory,  we  come  to  the  Governor's  Cot- 
tage, a  cool  summer  retreat  nestling  close  to  the  Rock, 
and  virtually  marking  the  limits  of  our  exploration.  For 
a  little  way  beyond  this  the  cliff  rises  inaccessible,  the 
road  ends,  and  we  must  retrace  our  steps.  So  far  as 
walking  or  driving  along  the  flat  is  concerned,  the  visitor 
who  has  reached  the  point  may  allege,  with  a  certain  kind 
of  superficial  accuracy,  that  he  has  "  done  Gibraltar." 
No  wonder  that  the  seasoned  globe-trotter  from  across 
the  Atlantic  thinks  nothing  of  taking  Calpe  in  his  stride. 

To  those,  however,  who  visit  Gibraltar  in  a  historic 
spirit,  it  is  not  to  be  (i  done  "  by  any  means  so  speedily 
as  this.  Indeed,  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  the 
work  of  a  visitor  of  this  order  is  hardly  yet  begun.  For 
he  will  have  come  to  Gibraltar  not  mainly  to  stroll  on  a 
sunny  promenade,  or  to  enjoy  a  shady  drive  round  the 
seaward  slopes  of  a  Spanish  headland,  or  even  to  feast 


THE  MOORISH  CASTLE  15 

his  eyes  on  the  glow  of  Southern  color  and  the  pic- 
turesque varieties  of  Southern  life ;  but  to  inspect  a  great 
world-fortress,  reared  almost  impregnable  by  the  hand 
of  Nature,  and  raised  into  absolute  impregnability  by 
the  art  of  man;  a  spot  made  memorable  from  the  very 
dawn  of  the  modern  period  by  the  rivalries  of  nations, 
and  famous  for  all  time  by  one  of  the  most  heroic 
exploits  recorded  in  the  annals  of  the  human  race.  To 
such  an  one,  we  say,  the  name  of  Gibraltar  stands  before 
and  beyond  everything  for  the  Rock  of  the  Great  Siege ; 
and  he  can  no  more  think  of  it  in  the  light  of  a  Mediter- 
ranean watering-place,  with,  a  romantic,  if  somewhat 
limited,  sea-front,  than  he  can  think  of  the  farmhouse 
of  La  Haye  as  an  "  interesting  Flemish  homestead,"  or 
the  Chateau  of  Hougoumont  as  a  Belgian  gentleman's 
"  eligible  country  house." 

For  him  the  tour  of  the  renowned  fortifications  will 
be  the  great  event  of  his  visit.  Having  furnished  himself 
with  the  necessary  authorization  from  the  proper  military 
authorities  (for  he  will  be  reminded  at  every  turn  of  the 
strict  martial  discipline  under  which  he  lives),  he  will 
proceed  to  ascend  the  Rock,  making  his  first  halt  at  a 
building  which  in  all  probability  he  will  often  before  this 
have  gazed  upon  and  wondered  at  from  below.  This 
is  the  Moorish  Castle,  the  first  object  to  catch  the  eye 
of  the  newcomer  as  he  steps  ashore  at  the  Mole,  and 
looks  up  at  the  houses  that  clamber  up  the  western  slope 
of  the  Rock.  Their  ascending  tiers  are  dominated  by  this 
battlemented  pile,  and  it  is  from  the  level  on  which  it 
stands  that  one  enters  the  famous  galleries  of  Gibraltar. 
The  castle  is  one  of  the  oldest  Moorish  buildings  in 
Spain,  the  Arabic  legend  over  the  south  gate  recording  it 
to  have  been  built  in  725  by  Abu-Abul-Hajez.  Its  prin- 


16  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

cipal  tower,  the  Torre  del  Homenaje,  is  riddled  with 
shot  marks,  the  scars  left  behind  it  by  the  ever-memorable 
siege.  The  galleries,  which  are  tunneled  in  tiers  along 
the  north  front  of  the  Rock,  are  from  two  to  three  miles 
in  extent.  At  one  extremity  they  widen  out  into  the 
spacious  crypt  known  as  the  Hall  of  St.  George,  in  which 
Nelson  was  feasted.  No  arches  support  these  galleries ; 
they  are  simply  hewn  from  the  solid  rock,  and  pierced 
every  dozen  yards  or  so  by  port-holes,  through  each  of 
which  the  black  muzzle  of  a  gun  looks  forth  upon  the 
Spanish  mainland.  They  front  the  north,  these  grim 
watchdogs,  and  seeing  that  the  plain  lies  hundreds  of 
feet  beneath  them,  and  with  that  altitude  of  sheer  rock 
face  between  them  and  it,  they  may  perhaps  be  admitted 
to  represent  what  a  witty  Frenchman  has  called  le  luxe 
et  la  coquetterie  d'  imprenable,  or  as  we  might  put  it,  a 
"  refinement  on  the  impregnable."  Artillery  in  position 
implies  the  possibility  of  regular  siege  operations,  fol- 
lowed perhaps  by  an  assault  from  the  quarter  which  the 
guns  command;  but  though  the  Spanish  threw  up 
elaborate  works  on  the  neutral  ground  in  the  second 
year  of  the  great  siege,  neither  then  nor  at  any  other 
time  has  an  assault  on  the  Rock  from  its  northern  side 
been  contemplated.  Yet  it  has  once  been  "  surprised  " 
from  its  eastern  side,  which  looks  almost  equally  in- 
accessible ;  and  farther  on  in  his  tour  of  exploration,  the 
visitor  will  come  upon  traces  of  that  unprecedented  and 
unimitated  exploit.  After  having  duly  inspected  the  gal- 
leries, he  will  ascend  to  the  Signal  Tower,  known  in 
Spanish  days  as  El  Hacho,  or  the  Torch,  the  spot  at 
which  beacon  fires  were  wont  on  occasion  to  be  kindled. 
It  is  not  quite  the  highest  point  of  the  Rock,  but  the 
view  from  it  is  one  of  the  most  imposing  in  the  world. 


HIGHEST  POINT  17 

To  the  north  lie  the  mountains  of  Ronda,  and  to  the 
far  east  the  Sierra  of  the  Snows  that  looks  down  on 
Granada,  gleams  pale  and  spectral  on  the  horizon.  Far 
beneath  you  lie  town  and  bay,  the  batteries  with  their 
tiny  ordnance,  and  the  harbor  with  its  plaything  ships ; 
while  farther  onward,  in  the  same  line  of  vision,  the 
African  "  Pillar  of  Hercules,"  Ceuta,  looks  down  upon 
the  sunlit  waters  of  the  Strait. 

A  little  farther  on  is  the  true  highest  point  of  the  Rock, 
1,430  feet;  and  yet  a  little  farther,  after  a  descent  of  a 
few  feet,  we  come  upon  the  tower  known  as  O'Hara's 
Folly,  from  which  also  the  view  is  magnificent,  and  which 
marks  the  southernmost  point  of  the  ridge.  It  was  built 
by  an  officer  of  that  name  as  a  watch  tower,  from  which 
to  observe  the  movements  of  the  Spanish  fleet  at  Cadiz, 
which,  even  across  the  cape  as  the  crow  flies,  is  distant 
some  fifty  or  sixty  miles.  The  extent,  however,  of  the 
outlook  which  it  actually  commanded  has  probably  never 
been  tested,  certainly  not  with  modern  optical  appliances, 
as  it  was  struck  by  lightning  soon  after  its  completion. 
Retracing  his  steps  to  the  northern  end  of  the  height,  the 
visitor  historically  interested  in  Gibraltar  will  do  well 
to  survey  the  scene  from  here  once  more  before  descend- 
ing to  inspect  the  fortifications  of  the  coast  line.  Far 
beneath  him,  looking  landward,  lies  the  flat  sandy  part 
of  the  isthmus,  cut  just  where  its  neck  begins  to  widen 
by  the  British  lines.  Bevond  these,  again,  extends  the 
zone  some  half  mile  in  breadth  of  the  neutral  ground; 
while  yet  farther  inland,  the  eve  lights  upon  a  .broken 
and  irregular  line  of  earthworks,  mirking  the  limit, 
politically  speaking,  of  Spanish  soil.  These  are  the  most 
notable,  perhaps  the  only  surviving,  relic  of  the  great 
siege.  In  the  third  year  of  that  desperate  leaguer — it 


i8  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

was  in  1781 — the  Spaniards  having  tried  in  vain,  since 
June,  1779,  to  starve  out  the  garrison,  resorted  to  the 
idea  of  bombarding  the  town  into  surrender,  and  threw 
up  across  the  neutral  ground  the  great  earthworks,  of 
which  only  these  ruins  remain.  They  had  reason,  indeed, 
to  resort  to  extraordinary  efforts.  Twice  within  these 
twenty-four  months  had  they  reduced  the  town  to  the 
most  dreadful  straits  of  hunger,  and  twice  had  it  been 
relieved  by  English  fleets.  In  January,  1780,  when  Rod- 
ney appeared  in  the  Straits  with  his  priceless  freight  of 
food,  the  inhabitants  were  feeding  on  thistles  and  wild 
onions ;  the  hind  quarter  of  an  Algerian  sheep  was  selling 
for  seven  pounds  ten,  and  an  English  milch  cow  for 
fifty  guineas.  In  the  spring  of  1781,  when  Admiral 
Darby  relieved  them  for  the  second  time,  the  price  of 
"  bad  ship's  biscuits  full  of  vermin  " — says  Captain  John 
Drinkwater  of  the  72nd,  an  actor  in  the  scenes  which  he 
has  recorded — was  a  shilling  a  pound ;  "  old  dried  peas, 
a  shilling  and  fourpence ;  salt,  half  dirt,  the  sweepings  of 
ships'  bottoms,  and  storehouses,  eightpence;  and  Eng- 
lish farthing  candles,  sixpence  apiece."  These  terrible 
privations  having  failed  to  break  the  indomitable  spirit 
of  the  besieged,  bombardment  had,  before  the  construc- 
tion of  these  lines,  been  resorted  to.  Enormous  batteries, 
mounting  170  guns  and  80  mortars,  had  been  planted 
along  the  shore,  and  had  played  upon  the  town,  without 
interruption,  for  six  weeks.  Houses  were  shattered 
and  set  on  fire,  homeless  and  half-starved  families  were 
driven  for  shelter  to  the  southern  end  of  the  promontory, 
where  again  they  were  harried  by  Spanish  ships  sailing 
round  Europa  Point  and  firing  indiscriminately  on  shore. 
The  troops,  shelled  out  of  their  quarters,  were  living  in 
tents  on  the  hillside,  save  when  these  also  were  swept 


WORKS  ASSAULTED  19 

away  by  the  furious  rainstorms  of  that  region.  And  it 
was  to  put,  as  was  hoped,  the  finishing  stroke  to  this 
process  of  torture,  that  the  great  fortifications  which  have 
been  spoken  of  were  in  course  of  construction  all  through 
the  spring  and  summer  of  1781  on  the  neutral  ground. 
General  Elliot — that  tough  old  Spartan  warrior,  whose 
food  was  vegetables  and  water,  and  four  hours  his  maxi- 
mum of  continuous  sleep,  and  the  contagion  of  whose 
noble  example  could  alone  perhaps  have  given  heart 
enough  even  to  this  sturdy  garrison — watched  the  prog- 
ress of  the  works  with  anxiety,  and  had  made  up  his 
mind  before  the  winter  came  that  they  must  be  assaulted. 
Accordingly,  at  three  A.  M.  on  the  morning  of  November 
27,  1781,  he  sallied  forth  with  a  picked  band  of  two  thou- 
sand men — a  pair  of  regiments  who  had  fought  by  his 
side  at  Minden  two-and-twenty  years  before — and  having 
traversed  the  three-quarters  of  a  mile  of  intervening  coun- 
try in  swift  silence,  fell  upon  the  Spanish  works.  The 
alarm  had  been  given,  but  only  just  before  the  assailants 
reached  the  object  of  their  attack;  and  the  affair  was 
practically  a  surprise.  The  gunners,  demoralized  and 
panic-stricken,  were  bayoneted  at  tlieir  posts,  the  guns 
were  spiked,  and  the  batteries  themselves  set  on  fire  with 
blazing  faggots  prepared  for  the  purpose.  In  an  hour  the 
flames  had  gained  such  strength  as  to  be  inextinguishable, 
and  General  Elliot  drew  off  his  forces  and  retreated  to  the 
town,  the  last  sound  to  greet  their  ears  as  they  re-entered 
the  gates  being  the  roar  of  the  explosion  of  the  enemy's 
magazines.  For  four  days  the  camp  continued  to  burn, 
and  when  the  fire  had  exhausted  itself  for  want  of  ma- 
terials, the  work  of  laborious  months  lay  in  ruins,  and  the 
results  of  a  vast  military  outlay  were  scattered  to  the 
winds.  It  was  the  last  serious  attempt  made  against  the 


20  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

garrison  by  the  Spaniards  from  the  landward  side.  The 
fiercest  and  most  furious  struggle  of  the  long  siege  was 
to  take  place  on  the  shore  and  waters  to  the  west. 

And  so  after  all  it  is  to  the  "  line-wall  " — to  that  for- 
midable bulwark  of  masonry  and  gun-metal  which  fringes 
the  town  of  Gibraltar  from  the  Old  Mole  to  Rosia  Bay — 
that  one  returns  as  to  the  chief  attraction  from  the  histor- 
ical point  of  view,  of  the  mighty  fortress.  For  two  full 
miles  it  runs,  zigzagging  along  the  indented  coast,  and 
broken  here  and  there  by  water-gate  or  bastion,  famous  in 
military  story.  Here,  as  we  move  southward  from  the  Old 
Mole,  is  the  King's  Bastion,  the  most  renowned  of  all. 
Next  comes  Ragged  Staff  Stairs,  so  named  from  the 
heraldic  insignia  of  Charles  V. ;  and  farther  on  is 
Jumper's  Battery,  situated  at  what  is  held  to  be  the 
weakest  part  of  the  Rock,  and  which  has  certainly  proved 
itself  to  be  so  on  one  ever  memorable  occasion.  For  it 
was  at  the  point  where  Jumper's  Battery  now  stands  that 
the  first  English  landing-party  set  foot  on  shore;  it  was 
at  this  point,  it  may  be  said,  that  Gibraltar  was  carried. 
The  fortunes  of  nomenclature  are  very  capricious,  and 
the  name  of  Jumper — unless,  indeed,  it  were  specially 
selected  for  its  appropriateness — has  hardly  a  better  right 
to  perpetuation  in  this  fashion  than  the  name  of  Hicks. 
For  these  were  the  names  of  the  two  gallant  officers  who 
were  foremost  in  their  pinnaces  in  the  race  for  the  South 
Mole,  which  at  that  time  occupied  the  spot  where  the 
landing  was  effected ;  and  we  are  not  aware  that  history 
records  which  was  the  actual  winner.  It  was  on  the 
23rd  of  July,  1704,  as  all  the  world  knows,  that  these 
two  gallant  seamen  and  their  boats'  crews  made  their  his- 
toric leap  on  shore ;  and  after  all,  the  accident  which 
had  preserved  the  name  of  one  of  them  is  not  more  of 


KING  CHARLES  III.  21 

what  is  familiarly  called  a  "  fluke  "  than  the  project  of 
the  capture  itself,  and  the  retention  of  the  great  fortress 
when  captured.  It  is  almost  comic  to  think  that  when 
Sir  George  Rooke  sailed  from  England,  on  the  voyage 
from  which  he  returned,  figuratively  speaking,  with  the 
key  of  the  Mediterranean  in  his  pocket,  he  had  no  more 
notion  of  attacking  Gibraltar  than  of  discovering  the 
North-West  Passage.  He  simply  went  to  land  Eng- 
land's candidate  for  the  Spanish  throne,  "  King  Charles 
III.,"  at  Lisbon ;  which  service  performed,  he  received 
orders  from  the  English  Government  to  sail  to  the  relief 
of  Nice  and  Villa  Franca,  which  were  supposed  to  be  in 
danger  from  the  French,  while  at  the  same  time  he  was 
pressed  by  Charles  to  "  look  round  "  at  Barcelona,  where 
the  people,  their  aspirant-sovereign  thought,  were  ready 
to  rise  in  his  favor.  Rooke  executed  both  commissions. 
That  is  to  say,  he  ascertained  that  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  in  either  place — that  Barcelona  would  not  rise, 
and  that  Nice  was  in  no  danger  of  falling;  and  the  ad- 
miral accordingly  dropped  down  the  Mediterranean  to- 
wards the  Straits — where  he  was  joined  by  Sir  Cloud- 
esley  Shovel  with  another  squadron — with  the  view  of 
intercepting  the  Brest  Fleet  of  France,  which  he  had 
heard  was  about  to  attempt  a  junction  with  that  of  Tou- 
lon. The  Brest  Fleet,  however,  he  found  had  already 
given  him  the  slip,  and  thus  it  came  about  that  on  the 
ijth  of  July  these  two  energetic  naval  officers  found 
themselves  about  seven  leagues  to  the  east  of  Teruan 
with  nothing  to  do.  It  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say 
that  the  attack  on  Gibraltar  was  decreed  as  the  distrac- 
tion of  an  intolerable  ennui.  The  stronghold  was  known 
to  be  weakly  garrisoned,  thousfh,  for  that  time,  strongly 
armed;  it  turned  out  afterwards  that  it  had  only  a  him- 


22  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

dred  and  fifty  gunners  to  a  hundred  guns,  and  it  was 
thought  possible  to  carry  the  place  by  a  coup-de-main. 
On  the  2  ist  the  whole  fleet  came  to  anchor  in  Gibraltar 
Bay.  Two  thousand  men  under  the  Prince  of  Hesse 
were  landed  on  what  is  now  the  neutral  ground,  and 
cut  off  all  communication  with  the  mainland  of  Spain. 
On  the  23rd  Rear-Admirals  Vanderdussen  and  Byng 
(the  father  of  a  less  fortunate  seaman)  opened  fire  upon 
the  batteries,  and  after  five  or  six  hours'  bombardment 
silenced  them,  and  Captain  Whittaker  was  thereupon 
ordered  to  take  all  the  boats,  filled  with  seamen  and 
marines,  and  possess  himself  of  the  South  Mole  Head. 
Captains  Jumper  and  Hicks  were,  as  has  been  said,  in  the 
foremost  pinnaces,  and  were  the  first  to  land.  A  mine 
exploded  under  their  feet,  killing  two  officers  and  a  hun- 
dred men,  but  Jumper  and  Hicks  pressed  on  with  their 
stout  followers,  and  assaulted  and  carried  a  redoubt  which 
lay  between  the  Mole  and  the  town.  Whereupon  the 
Spanish  Governor  capitulated,  the  gates  on  the  side  of  the 
isthmus  were  thrown  open  to  the  Prince  of  Hesse  and 
his  troops,  and  Gibraltar  was  theirs.  Or  rather  it  was 
not  theirs,  except  by  the  title  of  the  "  man  in  possession." 
It  was  the  property  of  his  Highness  the  Archduke 
Charles,  styled  his  Majesty  King  Charles  III.  of  Spain, 
and  had  he  succeeded  in  making  good  that  title  in  arms, 
England  should,  of  course,  have  had  to  hand  over  to  him 
the  strongest  place  in.  his  dominions,  at  the  end  of  the 
war.  But  she  profited  by  the  failure  of  her  protege. 
The  war  of  the  Spanish  Succession  ended  in  the  recog- 
nition of  Philip  V. ;  and  almost  against  the  will  of  the 
nation — for  George  1.  was  ready  enough  to  give  it  up, 
and  the  popular  English  view  of  the  matter  was  that  it 


THE  KING'S  BASTION  23 

was  "  a  barren  rock,  an  insignificant  fort,  and  a  useless 
charge  " — Gibraltar  remained  on  her  hands. 

Undoubtedly,  the  King's  Bastion  is  the  center  of  his- 
toric military  interest  in  Gibraltar,  but  the  line-wall 
should  be  followed  along  its  impregnable  front  to  com- 
plete one's  conception  of  the  sea  defenses  of  the  great 
fortress.  A  little  farther  on  is  Government  House,  the 
quondam  convent,  which  now  forms  the  official  resi- 
dence of  the  Governor ;  and  farther  still  the  landing-place, 
known  as  Ragged  Staff  Stairs.  Then  Jumper's  Bastion, 
already  mentioned;  and  then  the  line  of  fortification, 
running  outwards  with  the  coast  line  towards  the  New 
Mole  and  landing-place,  returns  upon  itself,  and  round- 
ing Rosia  Bay  trends  again  southward  towards  Buena 
Vista  Point.  A  ring  of  steel  indeed — a  coat  of  mail  on 
the  giant's  frame,  impenetrable  to  the  projectiles  of  the 
most  terrible  of  the  modern  Titans  of  the  seas.  The 
casemates  for  the  artillery  are  absolutely  bomb-proof,  the 
walls  of  such  thickness  as  to  resist  the  impact  of  shots 
weighing  hundreds  of  pounds,  while  the  mighty  arches 
overhead  are  constructed  to  defy  the  explosion  of  the 
heaviest  shells.  As  to  its  offensive  armament,  the  line- 
wall  bristles  with  guns  of  the  largest  caliber,  some 
mounted  on  the  parapet  above,  others  on  the  casemates 
nearer  the  sea-level,  whence  their  shot  could .  be  dis- 
charged with  the  deadliest  effect  at  an  attacking  ship. 

He  who  visits  Gibraltar  is  pretty  sure,  at  least  if  time 
permits,  to  visit  Algeciras  and  San  Roque,  while  from 
farther  afield  still  he  will  be  tempted  by  Estepona.  The 
first  of  these  places  he  will  be  in  a  hurry,  indeed,  if  he 
misses;  not  that  the  place  itself  is  very  remarkable,  as 
that  it  stands  so  prominently  in  evidence  on  the  other 


24  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

side  of  the  bay  as  almost  to  challenge  a  visit.  Add  to 
this  the  natural  curiosity  of  a  visitor  to  pass  over  into 
Spanish  territory  and  to  survey  Gibraltar  from  the  land- 
ward side,  and  it  will  not  be  surprising  that  the  four- 
mile  trip  across  the  bay  is  pretty  generally  made.  On 
the  whole  it  repays ;  for  though  Algeciras  is  modern  and 
uninteresting  enough,  its  environs  are  picturesque,  and 
the  artist  will  be  able  to  sketch  the  great  rock-fortress 
from  an  entirely  new  point,  and  in  not  the  least  striking 
of  its  aspects. 

And  now,  before  passing  once  for  all  through  the 
storied  portal  of  the  Mediterranean,  it  remains  to  bestow 
at  least  a  passing  glance  upon  the  other  column  which 
guards  the  entrance.  Over  against  us,  as  we  stand  on 
Europa  Point  and  look  seaward,  looms,  some  ten  or  a 
dozen  miles  away,  the  Punta  de  Africa,  the  African  Pillar 
of  Hercules,  the  headland  behind  which  lies  Ceuta,  the 
principal  Spanish  stronghold  on  the  Moorish  coast.  Of 
a  truth,  one's  first  thought  is  that  the  great  doorway  of 
the  inland  sea  has  monstrously  unequal  jambs.  Except 
that  the  Punta  de  Africa  is  exactly  opposite  the  Rock 
of  Gibraltar,  and  that  it  is  the  last  eminence  on  the 
southern  side  of  the  Straits — the  point  at  which  the  Af- 
rican coast  turns  suddenly  due  southward,  and  all  is 
open  sea — it  would  have  been  little  likely  to  have  caught 
the  eye  of  an  explorer,  or  to  have  forced  itself  upon  the 
notice  of  the  geographer.  Such  as  it  is,  however,  it  must 
stand  for  the  African  Pillar  of  Hercules,  unless  that 
demi-god  is  to  content  himself  with  only  one.  It  is  not 
imposing  to  approach  as  we  make  our  way  directly  across 
the  Straits  from  Gibraltar,  or  down  and  along  them  from 
Algeciras  towards  it  r  a  smooth,  rounded  hill,  surmounted 
by  a  fort  with  the  Spanish  flag  floating  above  it,  and 


CEUTA  25 

walled  on  the  sea  side,  so  little  can  its  defenders  trust 
to  the  very  slight  natural  difficulties  offered  even  by  its 
most  difficult  approach.  Such  is  Ceuta  in  the  distance, 
and  it  is  little,  if  at  all,  more  impressive  on  a  closer  in- 
spection. Its  name  is  said  to  come  from  Sebta,  a  cor- 
ruption of  Septem,  and  to  have  been  given  it  because  of 
the  seven  hills  on  which  it  is  built.  Probably  the  seven 
hills  would  be  difficult  to  find  and  count,  or  with  a  more 
liberal  interpretation  of  the  word,  it  might  very  likely 
be  ns  easy  to  find  fourteen. 

Ceuta,  like  almost  every  other  town  or  citadel  on  this 
battle-ground  of  Europe  and  Africa,  has  played  its  part 
in  the  secular  struggle  between  Christendom  and  Islam. 
It  is  more  than  four  centuries  and  a  half  since  it  was 
first  wrested  from  the  Moors  by  King  John  of  Portugal, 
and  in  the  hands  of  that  State  it  remained  for  another 
two  hundred  years,  when  in  1640,  it  was  annexed  to  the 
Crown  of  Castille.  King  John's  acquisition  of  the  place, 
however,  was  unfortunate  for  his  family.  He  returned 
home,  leaving  the  princes  of  Portugal  in  command  of  his 
new  possession ;  which,  after  the  repulse  of  an  attempt  on 
the  part  of  the  Moors  to  recapture  it,  he  proceeded  to 
strengthen  with  new  fortifications  and  an  increased  gar- 
rison. Dying  in  1428,  he  was  succeeded  by  his  eldest  son, 
Edward,  who  undertook  an  expedition  against  Tangier, 
which  turned  out  so  unluckily  that  the  Portuguese  had 
to  buy  their  retreat  from  Africa  by  a  promise  to  restore 
Ceuta,  the  king's  son,  Don  Ferdinand,  being  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  Moors  as  a  hostage  for  its  delivery.  In 
spite  of  this,  however,  the  King  and  Council  refused  on 
their  return  home  to  carry  out  their  undertaking;  and 
though  preparations  were  made  for  recovering  the  un- 
fortunate hostage,  the  death  of  Edward  prevented  the 


26  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

project  from  being  carried  out,  and  Prince  Ferdinand 
remained  a  prisoner  for  several  years.  Ceuta  was  never 
surrendered,  and  passing,  as  has  been  said,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  from  the  possession  of  Portugal  into  that 
of  Spain,  it  now  forms  one  of  the  four  or  five  vantage- 
points  held  by  Spain  on  the  coast  of  Africa  and  in  its 
vicinity.  Surveyed  from  the  neighboring  heights,  the 
citadel,  with  the  town  stretching  away  along  the  neck  of 
land  at  its  foot,  looks  like  anything  but  a  powerful  strong- 
hold, and  against  any  less  effete  and  decaying  race  than 
the  Moors  who  surround  it,  it  might  not  possibly  prove 
very  easy  to  defend.  Its  garrison,  however,  is  strong, 
whatever  its  forts  may  be,  and  as  a  basis  of  military 
operations,  it  proved  to  be  of  some  value  to  Spain  in 
her  expedition  against  Morocco  thirty  years  ago.  In 
times  of  peace  it  is  used  by  the  Spaniards  as  a  convict 
station. 

The  internal  attractions  of  Ceuta  to  a  visitor  are  not 
considerable.  There  are  Roman  remains  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  citadel,  and  the  walls  of  the  town,  with 
the  massive  archways  of  its  gates,  are  well  worthy  of 
remark.  Its  main  feature  of  interest,  however,  is,  and 
always  will  be,  that  rock  of  many  names  which  it  thrusts 
forth  into  the  Straits,  to  form,  with  its  brother  column 
across  the  water,  the  gateway  between  the  Eastern  and 
the  Western  World.  We  have  already  looked  upon  it 
in  the  distance  from  El  Hacho,  the  signal  tower  on  the 
summit  of  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar.  Abyla,  "  the  mountain 
of  God,"  it  was  styled  by  the  Phoenicians ;  Gibel  Mo-osa, 
the  hill  of  Musa,  was  its  name  among  the  Moors;  it  is 
the  Cabo  de  Bullones  of  the  Spaniard,  and  the  Apes' 
Hill  of  the  Englishman.  It  may  be  well  seen,  though 
dwarfed  a  little  by  proximity,  from  its  neighboring 


FAREWELL  LOOK  27 

waters;  a  curious  sight,  if  only  for  its  strange  contrast 
with  the  European  Pillar  that  we  have  left  behind.  It  is 
shaped  like  a  miniature  Peak  of  TenerifTe,  with  a  pointed 
apex  sloping  away  on  either  side  down  high-shouldered 
ridges  towards  its  companion  hills,  and  presenting  a 
lined  and  furrowed  face  to  the  sea.  It  is  its  situation, 
as  has  been  noted  already,  and  not  its  conformation, 
which  procured  it  its  ancient  name  But  however  earned, 
its  mythical  title,  with  all  the  halo  of  poetry  and  ro- 
mance that  the  immortal  myths  of  Hellas  have  shed 
around  every  spot  which  they  have  reached,  remains  to 
it  for  ever.  And  here  we  take  our  farewell  look  of  the 
Pillars  of  Hercules  to  right  and  left,  and  borne  onwards 
amidstream  by  the  rushing  current  of  the  Straits,  we 
pass  from  the  modern  into  the  ancient  world. 


II 

ALGIERS 

A  Pearl  set  in  Emeralds  " — Two  distinct  towns,  one  ancie  ut, 
one  modern — The  Great  Mosque — A  Mohammedan  religious 
festival — Oriental  life  in  perfection — The  road  to  Mustapha 
Superieur — A  true  Moorish  villa  described — Women  praying 
to  a  sacred  tree — Excessive  rainfall. 


A 


CC  ^  LGIERS,"  says  the  Arab  poet,  with  genuine 
Oriental  love  of  precious  stones  in  literature, 
"  is  a  pearl  set  in  emeralds."  And  even  in 
these  degenerate  days  of  Frank  supremacy  in  Islam,  the 
old  Moorish  town  still  gleams  white  in  the  sun  against 
a  deep  background  of  green  hillside,  a  true  pearl  among 
emeralds.  For  it  is  a  great  mistake  to  imagine  North 
Africa,  as  untravelled  folk  suppose,  a  dry  and  desert 
country  of  arid  rocky  mountains.  The  whole  strip  of 
laughing  coast  which  has  the  Atlas  for  its  backbone  may 
rank,  on  the  contrary,  as  about  the  dampest,  greenest, 
and  most  luxuriant  region  of  the  Mediterranean  system. 
The  home  of  the  Barbary  corsairs  is  a  land  of  high  moun- 
tains, deep  glens,  great  gorges ;  a  land  of  vast  pine  forests 
and  thick,  verdant  undergrowth.  A  thousand  rills 
tumble  headlong  down  its  rich  ravines ;  a  thousand 
rivers  flow  fast  through  its  fertile  valleys.  For  wild 
flowers  Algeria  is  probably  unequaled  in  the  whole 
world ;  its  general  aspect  in  many  ways  recalls  on  a 


I 


THE  SAHEL  29 

scale    the    less    snow-clad    parts     of    eastern 
Switzerland. 

When  you  approach  the  old  pirate-nest  from  the  sea, 
the  first  glimpse  of  the  African  coast  that  greets  your 
expectant  eye  is  a  long,  serrated  chain  of  great  sun- 
smitten  mountains  away  inland  and  southward.  As  the 
steamer  nears  the  land,  you  begin,  after  a  while,  to  dis- 
tinguish the  snowy  ridge  of  the  glorious  Djurjura,  which 
is  the  Bernese  Oberland  of  Algeria,  a  huge  block  of  rear- 
ing peaks,  their  summits  thick-covered  by  the  virgin 
snow  that  feeds  in  spring  a  score  of  leaping  torrents. 
By-and-by,  with  still  nearer  approach,  a  wide  bay  dis- 
closes itself,  and  a  little  range  of  green  hills  in  the  fore- 
ground detaches  itself  by  degrees  from  the  darker  mass 
of  the  Atlas  looming  large  in  the  distance  behind.  This 
little  range  is  the  Sahel,  an  outlier  just  separated  from 
the  main  chain  in  the  rear  by  the  once  marshy  plain  of 
the  Metidja,  now  converted  by  drainage  and  scientific 
agriculture  into  the  most  fertile  lowland  region  of  all 
North  Africa. 

Presently,  on  the  seaward  slopes  of  the  Sahel,  a  white 
town  bursts  upon  the  eye,  a  white  town  so  very  white, 
so  close,  so  thick-set,  that  at  first  sight  you  would  think  it 
carved  entire,  in  tier  after  tier,  from  a  solid  block  of 
marble.  No  street  or  lane  or  house  or  public  building  of 
any  sort  stands  visible  from  the  rest  at  a  little  distance; 
just  a  group  of  white  steps,  you  would  say,  cut  out  by 
giant  hands  from  the  solid  hillside.  The  city  of  the  Deys 
looks  almost  like  a  chalk-pit  on  the  slope  of  an  English 
down;  only  a  chalk-pit  in  relief,  built  out,  not  hewn  • 
inwards. 

As  you  enter  the  harbor  the  strange  picture  resolves 
itself  bit  by  bit  with  charming  effect  into,  its  component 


30  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

elements.  White  houses  rise  up  steep,  one  above  the 
other,  in  endless  tiers  and  rows,  upon  a  very  abrupt 
acclivity.  Most  of  them  are  Moorish  in  style,  square, 
flat-roofed  boxes;  all  are  whitewashed  without,  and 
smiling  like  pretty  girls  that  show  their  pearly  teeth  in 
the  full  southern  sunshine.  From  without  they  have  the 
aspect  of  a  single  solid  block  of  stone;  you  would  fancy 
it  was  impossible  to  insert  a  pin's  head  between  them. 
From  within,  to  him  that  enters,  sundry  narrow  and 
tortuous  alleys  discover  themselves  here  and  there  on 
close  inspection ;  but  they  are  too  involved  to  produce 
much  effect  as  of  streets  or  rows  on  the  general  coup 
d'ceil  from  the  water. 

Land  at  the  quay,  and  you  find  at  once  Algiers  con- 
sists of  two  distinct  towns :  one  ancient,  one  modern ; 
one  Oriental,  one  Western.  Now  and  again  these  inter- 
sect, but  for  the  most  part  they  keep  themselves  severely 
separate. 

The  lower  town  has  been  completely  transformed 
within  half  a  century  by  its  French  masters.  What  it 
has  gained  in  civilization  it  has  lost  in  picturesqueness. 
A  spacious  port  has  been  constructed,  with  massive  mole 
and  huge  arcaded  breakwater.  Inside,  vast  archways 
support  a  magnificent  line  of  very  modern  quays,  bor- 
dered by  warehouses  on  a  scale  that  would  do  honor  to 
Marseilles  or  to  Liverpool.  Broad  streets  run  through 
the  length  and  breadth  of  this  transformed  Algiers, 
streets  of  stately  shops  where  ladies  can  buy  all  the  frip- 
peries and  fineries  of  Parisian  dressmakers.  Yet  even 
here  the  traveller  finds  himself  already  in  many  ways 
en  plein  Orient.  The  general  look  of  the  new  town  itself 
is  far  more  Eastern  than  that  of  modernized  Alexandria 
since  the  days  of  the  bombardment.  Arabs,  Moors  and 


THE  GREAT  MOSQUE  31 

Kabyles  crowd  the  streets  and  market-places;  muffled 
women  in  loose  white  robes,  covered  up  to  the  eyes,  flit 
noiselessly  with  slippered  feet  over  the  new-flagged  pave- 
ment; turbaned  Jews,  who  might  have  stepped  straight 
out  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  chaffer  for  centimes  at  the 
shop-doors  with  hooded  mountain  Berbers.  All  is  strange 
and  incongruous ;  all  is  Paris  and  Bagdad  shaking  hands 
as  if  on  the  Devonshire  hillsides. 

Nor  are  even  Oriental  buildings  of  great  architectural 
pretensions  wanting  to  this  newer  French  city.  The  con- 
querors, in  reconstructing  Algiers  on  the  Parisian  model, 
have  at  least  forborne  to  Haussmannise  in  every  instance 
the  old  mosques  and  palaces.  The  principal  square,  a 
broad  place  lined  with  palm-trees,  is  enlivened  and  made 
picturesque  by  the  white  round  dome  and  striking  mina- 
rets of  the  Mosquee  de  la  Pecherie.  Hard  by  stands  the 
Cathedral,  a  religious  building  of  Mussulman  origin,  half 
Christianized  externally  by  a  tower  at  each  end,  but  en- 
closing within  doors  its  old  Mohammedan  '  mimbar  and 
many  curious  remains  of  quaint  Moorish  decoration. 
The  Archbishopric  at  its  side  is  a  Moorish  palace  of  se- 
vere beauty  and  grandeur ;  the  museum  of  Grseco-Roman 
antiques  is  oddly  installed  in  the  exquisite  home  raised 
for  himself  by  Mustapha  Pasha.  The  Great  Mosque,  in 
the  Rue  Bab-el-Oued,  remains  to  us  unspoiled  as  the 
finest  architectural  monument  of  the  early  Mohammedan 
world.  That  glorious  pile  was  built  by  the  very  first 
Arab  conquerors  of  North  Africa,  the  companions  of  the 
Prophet,  and  its  exquisite  horse-shoe  arches  of  pure  white 
marble  are  unsurpassed  in  the  Moslem  world  for  their 
quaintness,  their  oddity,  and  their  originality. 

The  interior  of  this  mosque  is,  to  my  mind,  far  more 
impressive  than  anything  to  be  seen  even  in  Cairo  itself, 


32  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

so  vast  it  is,  so  imposing,  so  grand,  so  gloomy.  The 
entire  body  of  the  building  is  occupied  throughout  by 
successive  arcades,  supported  in  long  rows  by  plain, 
square  pillars.  Decoration  there  is  none ;  the  mosque 
depends  for  effect  entirely  on  its  architectural  features 
and  its  noble  proportions.  But  the  long  perspective  of 
these  endless  aisles,  opening  out  to  right  and  left  per- 
petually as  you  proceed,  strikes  the  imagination  of  the 
beholder  with  a  solemn  sense  of  vastness  and  mystery. 
As  you  pick  your  way,  shoeless,  among  the  loose  mats 
on  the  floor,  through  those  empty  long  corridors,  between 
those  buttress-like  pillars,  the  soul  shrinks  within  you, 
awe-struck.  The  very  absence  of  images  or  shrines,  the 
simplicity  and  severity,  gives  one  .the  true  Semitic  re- 
ligious thrill.  No  gauds  or  gewgaws  here.  You  feel 
at  once  you  are  in  the  unseen  presence  of  the  Infinite 
and  the  Incomprehensible. 

The  very  first  time  I  went  into  the  Great  Mosque  hap- 
pened, by  good  luck,  to  be  the  day  of  a  Mohammedan 
religious  festival.  Rows  and  rows  of  Arabs  in  white 
robes  filled  up  the  interspaces  of  the  columns,  and  rose 
and  fell  with  one  accord  at  certain  points  of  the  service. 
From  the  dim  depths  by  the  niche  that  looks  towards 
Mecca  a  voice  of  some  unseen  ministrant  droned  slowly 
forth  loud  Arabic  prayers  or  long  verses  from  the  Koran. 
At  some  invisible  signal,  now  and  again,  the  vast  throng 
of  worshippers,  all  ranged  in  straight  lines  at  even  dis- 
tances between  the  endless  pillars,  prostrated  themselves 
automatically  on  their  faces  before  Allah,  and  wailed 
aloud  as  if  in  conscious  confession  of  their  own  utter 
unworthiness.  The  effect  was  extraordinary,  electrical, 
contagious.  No  religious  service  I  have  ever  seen  else- 
where seemed  to  me  to  possess  such  a  profundity  of  ear- 


THE  OLD  TOWN  33 

nest  humiliation,  as  of  man  before  the  actual  presence 
of  his  Maker.  It  appeared  to  one  like  a  chapter  of  Nehe- 
miah  come  true  again  in  our  epoch.  We  few  intrusive 
Westerns,  standing  awe-struck  by  the  door,  slunk  away, 
all  abashed,  from  this  scene  of  deep  abasement.  We  had 
no  right  to  thrust  ourselves  upon  the  devotions  of  these 
intense  Orientals.  We  felt  ourselves  out  of  place.  We 
had  put  off  our  shoes,  for  the  place  we  stood  upon  was 
holy  ground.  But  we  slunk  back  to  the  porch,  and  put 
them  on  again  in  silence.  Outside,  we  emerged  upon  the 
nineteenth  century  and  the  world.  Yet  even  so,  we  had 
walked  some  way  down  the  Place  de  la  Regence,  among 
the  chattering  negro  pedlers,  before  one  of  us  dared  to 
exchange  a  single  word  with  the  other. 

If  the  new  town  of  Algiers  is  interesting,  however,  the 
old  town  is  unique,  indescribable,  incomprehensible.  No 
map  could  reproduce  it;  no  clue  could  unravel  it.  It 
climbs  and  clambers  by  tortuous  lanes  and  steep  stair- 
cases up  the  sheer  side  of  a  high  hill  to  the  old  fortress 
of  the  Deys  that  crowns  the  summit.  Not  one  gleam  of 
sunshine  ever  penetrates  down  those  narrow  slits  between 
the  houses,  where  two  people  can  just  pass  abreast,  brush- 
ing their  elbows  against  the  walls,  and  treading  with 
their  feet  in  the  poached  filth  of  the  gutter.  The  dirt 
that  chokes  the  sides  is  to  the  dirt  of  Italy  as  the  dirt  of 
Italy  is  to  the  dirt  of  Whitechapel.  And  yet  so  quaint, 
so  picturesque,  so  interesting  is  it  all,  that  even  delicate 
ladies,  with  the  fear  of  typhoid  fever  for  ever  before 
their  eyes,  cannot  refuse  themselves  the  tremulous  joy 
of  visiting  it  and  exploring  it  over  and  over  again ;  nay, 
more,  of  standing  to  bargain  for  old  brass-work  or  Al- 
gerian embroidery  with  keen  Arab  shopkeepers  in  its 
sunless  labyrinths.  Except  the  Mooskee  at  Cairo,  indeed, 


34  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

I  know  no  place  yet  left  where  you  can  see  Oriental  life 
in  perfection  as  well  as  the  old  town  of  Algiers.  For  are 
there  not  tramways  nowadays  even  in  the  streets  of 
Damascus?  Has  not  a  railway  station  penetrated  the 
charmed  heart  of  Stamboul?  The  Frank  has  done  his 
worst  for  the  lower  town  of  his  own  building,  but  the 
upper  town  still  remains  as  picturesque,  as  mysterious, 
and  as  insanitary  as  ever.  No  Pasteur  could  clean  out 
those  Augean  stables. 

In  those  malodorous  little  alleys,  where  every  pros- 
pect pleases  and  every  scent  is  vile,  nobody  really  walks ; 
veiled  figures  glide  softly  as  if  to  inaudible  music ;  ladies, 
muffled  up  to  their  eyes,  use  those  solitary  features  with 
great  effect  upon  the  casual  passer-by;  old  Moors,  in 
stately  robes,  emerge  with  stealthy  tread  from  half- 
unseen  doorways ;  boys  clad  in  a  single  shirt  sit  and 
play  pitch-and-toss  for  pence  on  dark  steps.  Everything 
reeks  impartially  of  dirt  and  of  mystery.  All  is  gloom 
and  shade.  You  could  believe  anything  on  earth  of  that 
darkling  old  town.  There  all  Oriental  fancies  might 
easily  come  true,  all  fables  might  revive,  all  dead  history 
might  repeat  itself. 

These  two  incongruous  worlds,  the  ancient  and  the 
modern  town,  form  the  two  great  divisions  of.  Algiers 
as  the  latter-day  tourist  from  our  cold  North  knows  it. 
The  one  is  antique,  lazy,  sleepy,  unprogressive ;  the  other 
is  bustling,  new-world,  busy,  noisy,  commercial.  But 
/  there  is  yet  a  third  Algiers  that  lies  well  without  the  wall, 
the  Algiers  of  the  stranger  and  of  the  winter  resident. 
Hither  Mr.  Cook  conducts  his  eager  neophytes ;  hither 
the  Swiss  innkeeper  summons  his  cosmopolitan  guests. 
It  reaches  its  culminating  point  about  three  miles  from 


MUSTAPHA  SUPERIEUR  35 

the  town,  on  the  heights  of  Mustapha  Superieur,  where 
charming  villas  spread  thick  over  the  sunlit  hills,  and 
where  the  Western  visitor  can  enjoy  the  North  African 
air  without  any  unpleasant  addition  of  fine  old  crusted 
Moorish  perfumes. 

The  road  to  Mustapha  Superieur  lies  through  the  Bab- 
Azzoun  gate,  and  passes  first  along  a  wide  street  thronged 
with  Arabs  and  Kabyles  from  the  country  and  the  moun- 
tains. This  is  the  great  market  road  of  Algiers,  the 
main  artery  of  supplies,  a  broad  thoroughfare  lined  with 
fondouks  or  caravanserais,  where  the  weary  camel  from 
the  desert  deposits  his  bales  of  dates,  and  where  black 
faces  of  Saharan  negroes  smile  out  upon  the  curious 
stranger  from  dense  draping  folds  of  some  dirty  bur- 
nouse. The  cafes  are  filled  with  every  variety  of  Mos- 
lem,  Jew,  Turk,  and  infidel.  Nowhere  else  will  you  see 
to  better  advantage  the  wonderful  variety  of  races  and 
costumes  that  distinguishes  Algiers  above  most  other 
cosmopolitan  Mediterranean  cities.  The  dark  M'zabite 
from  the  oases,  arrayed  like  Joseph  in  a  coat  of  many 
colors,  stands  chatting  at  his  own  door  with  the  pale- 
faced  melancholy  Berber  of  the  Aures  mountains.  The 
fat  and  dusky  Moor,  over-fed  on  kous-kous,  jostles  cheek 
by  jowl  with  the  fair  Jewess  in  her  Paisley  shawl  and 
quaint  native  head-gear.  Mahonnais  Spaniards  from  the 
Balearic  Isles,  girt  round  their  waists  with  red  scarves, 
talk  gaily  to  French  missionary  priests  in  violet  bands 
and  black  cassocks.  Old  Arabs  on  white  donkeys  amble 
with  grave  dignity  down  the  center  of  the  broad  street, 
where  chasseurs  in  uniform  and  spahis  in  crimson  cloaks 
keep  them  company  on  fiery  steeds  from  the  Government 
stud  at  Blidah.  All  is  noise  and  bustle,  hurry,  scurry, 


36  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

and  worry,  the  ant-hill  life  of  an  English  bazaar  gro- 
tesquely superimposed  on  the  movement  and  stir  of  a 
great  European  city. 

You  pass  through  the  gates  of  the  old  Moorish  town 
and  find  yourself  at  once  in  a  modern  but  still  busy 
suburb.  Then  on  a  sudden  the  road  begins  to  mount  the 
steep  Mustapha  slope  by  sharp  zigzags  and  bold  gra- 
dients. In  native  Algerian  days,  before  Allah  in  his 
wisdom  mysteriously  permitted  the  abhorred  infidel  to 
bear  sway  in  the  Emerald  City  over  the  Faithful  of  Islam, 
a  single  narrow  mule-path  ascended  from  the  town  wall 
to  the  breezy  heights  of  Mustapha.  It  still  exists,  though 
deserted,  that  old  breakneck  Mussulman  road  a  deep 
cutting  through  soft  stone,  not  unlike  a  Devonshire  lane, 
all  moss-grown  and  leafy,  a  favorite  haunt  of  the  natural- 
ist and  the  trap-door  spider.  But  the  French  engineers, 
most  famous  of  road-makers,  knew  a  more  excellent 
way.  Shortly  after  the  conquest  they  carved  a  zigzag 
carriage-drive  of  splendid  dimensions  up  that  steep  hill- 
front,  and  paved  it  well  with  macadam  of  most  orthodox 
solidity.  At  the  top,  in  proof  of  their  triumph  over  na- 
ture and  the  Moslem,  they  raised  a  tiny  commemorative 
monument,  the  Colonne  Voirol,  after  their  commander's 
name,  now  the  Clapham  Junction  of  all  short  excursions 
among  the  green  dells  of  the  Sahel. 

The  Mustapha  road,  on  its  journey  uphill,  passes 
many  exquisite  villas  of  the  old  Moorish  corsairs.  The 
most  conspicuous  is  that  which  now  forms  the  Governor- 
General's  Summer  Palace,  a  gleaming  white  marble  pile 
of  rather  meretricious  and  over-ornate  exterior,  but  all 
glorious  within,  to  those  who  know  the  secret  of  decora- 
tive art,  with  its  magnificent  heirloom  of  antique  tiled 
dados.  Many  of  the  other  ancient  villas,  however,  and 


A  MOORISH  VILLA  37 

notably  the  one  occupied  by  Lady  Mary  Smith-Barry, 
are  much  more  really  beautiful,  even  if  less  externally 
pretentious,  than  the  Summer  Palace.  One  in  particular, 
near  the  last  great  bend  of  the  road,  draped  from  the 
ground  to  the  flat  roof  with  a  perfect  cataract  of  bloom 
by  a  crimson  bougainvillea,  may  rank  among  the  most 
picturesque  and  charming  homes  in  the  French 
dominions. 

It  is  at  Mustapha,  or  along  the  El  Biar  road,  that  the 
English  colony  of  residents  or  winter  visitors  almost  en- 
tirely congregates.  Nothing  can  be  more  charming  than 
this  delicious  quarter,  a  wilderness  of  villas,  with  its 
gleaming  white  Moorish  houses  half  lost  in  rich  gardens 
of  orange,  palm,  and  cypress  trees.  How  infinitely  love- 
lier these  Eastern  homes  than  the  fantastic  extravagances 
of  the  Californie  at  Cannes,  or  the  sham  antiques  on  the 
Mont  Boron !  The  native  North  African  style  of  archi- 
tecture answers  exactly  to  the  country  in  whose  midst  it 
was  developed.  In  our  cold  northern  climes  those  open 
airy  arcades  would  look  chilly  and  out  of  place,  just  as 
our  castles  and  cottages  would  look  dingy  and  incon- 
gruous among  the  sunny  nooks  of  the  Atlas.  But  here, 
on  the  basking  red  African  soil,  the  milk-white  Moorish 
palace  with  its  sweeping  Saracenic  arches,  its  tiny  round 
domes,  its  flat,  terraced  roofs,  and  its  deep  perspective 
of  shady  windows,  seems  to  fit  in  with  land  and  climate 
as  if  each  were  made  for  the  other.  Life  becomes  abso- 
lutely fairy-like  in  these  charming  old  homes.  Each 
seems  for  the  moment  while  you  are  in  it  just  a  dream 
in  pure  marble. 

I  am  aware  that  to  describe  a  true  Moorish  villa  is  like 
describing  the  flavor  of  a  strawberry ;  the  one  must  be 
tasted,  the  other  seen.  But  still,  as  the  difficulty  of  a 


38  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

task  gives  zest  to  the  attempt  at  surmounting  it,  I  will 
try  my.  hand  at  a  dangerous  word-picture.  Most  of  the 
Mustapha  houses  have  an  outer  entrance-court,  to  which 
you  obtain  admission  from  the  road  by  a  plain,  and  often 
rather  heavy,  archwray.  But,  once  you  have  reached  the 
first  atrium,  or  uncovered  central  court,  you  have  no 
reason  to  complain  of  heaviness  or  want  of  decoration. 
The  court-yard  is  generally  paved  with  parti-colored 
marble,  and  contains  in  its  center  a  Pompeian-looking 
fountain,  whose  cool  water  bubbles  over  into  a  shallow 
tank  beneath  it.  Here  reeds  and  tall  arums  lift  their 
stately  green  foliage,  and  bright  pond-blossoms  rear  on 
high  their  crimson  heads  of  bloom.  Round  the  quad- 
rangle runs  a  covered  arcade  (one  might  almost  say  a 
cloister)  of  horse-shoe  arches,  supported  by  marble  col- 
umns, sometimes  Graeco-Roman  antiques,  sometimes  a 
little  later  in  date,  but  admirably  imitated  from  the  orig- 
inals. This  outer  court  is  often  the  most  charming  fea- 
ture of  the  whole  house.  Here,  on  sultry  days,  the  ladies 
of  the  family  sit  with  their  books  or  their  fancy-work; 
here  the  lord  of  the  estate  smokes  his  afternoon  cigar; 
here  the  children  play  in  the  shade  during  the  hottest 
African  noon-day.  It  is  the  place  for  the  siesta,  for  the 
afternoon  tea,  for  the  lounge  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
for  the  joyous  sense  of  the  delight  of  mere  living. 

From  the  court-yard  a  second  corridor  leads  into  the 
house  itself,  whose  center  is  always  occupied  by  a  large 
square  court,  like  the  first  in  ground-plan,  but  two- 
storied  and  glass-covered.  This  is  the  hall,  or  first  re- 
ception room,  often  the  principal  apartment  of  the  whole 
house,  from  which  the  other  rooms  open  out  in  every 
direction.  Usually  the  ground-floor  of  the  hall  has  an 
open  arcade,  supporting  a  sort  of  balcony  or  gallery 


FINEST  VIEWS  39 

above,  which  runs  right  round  the  first  floor  on  top  of 
it.  This  balcony  is.  itself  arcaded ;  but  instead  of  the 
arches  being  left  open  the  whole  way  up,  they  are  filled 
in  for  the  first  few  feet  from  the  floor  with  a  charming 
balustrade  of  carved  Cairene  woodwork.  Imagine  such 
a  court,  ringed  round  with  string-courses  of  old  Oriental 
tiles,  and  decorated  with  a  profusion  of  fine  pottery  and 
native  brasswork,  and  you  may  form  to  yourself  some 
faint  mental  picture  of  the  common  remodeled  Algerian 
villa.  It  makes  one  envious  again  to  remember  how 
many  happy  days  one  has  spent  in  some  such  charming 
retreats,  homes  where  all  the  culture  and  artistic  taste 
of  the  West  have  been  added  to  all  the  exquisite  decora- 
tive instinct  and  insight  of  the  Oriental  architect. 

Nor  are  fair  outlooks  wanting.  From  many  points  of 
view  on  the  Mustapha  Hill  the  prospect  is  among  the 
most  charming  in  the  western  Mediterranean.  Sir  Lam- 
bert Play  fair,  indeed,  the  learned  and  genial  British 
Consul-General  whose  admirable  works  on  Algeria  have 
been  the  delight  of 'every  tourist  who  visits  that  beauti- 
ful country,  is  fond  of  saying  that  the  two  finest  views 
on  the  Inland  Sea  are,  first,  that  from  the  Greek  Theater 
at  Taormina,  and,  second,  that  from  his  own  dining-roem 
windows  on  the  hill-top  at  El  Biar.  This  is  very  strong 
praise,  and  it  comes  from  the  author  of  a  handbook  to 
the  Mediterranean  who  has  seen  that  sea  in  all  aspects, 
from  Gibralta  to  Syria ;  yet  I  fancy  it  is  too  high,  es- 
pecially when  one  considers  that  among  the  excluded 
scenes  must  be  put  Naples,  Sorrento,  Amalfi,  Palermo, 
and  the  long  stretch  of  Venice  as  seen  from  the  Lido. 
I  would  myself  even  rank  the  outlook  on  Monaco  from 
the  slopes  of  Cap  Martin,  and  the  glorious  panorama  of 
Nice  and  the  Maritime  Alps  from  the  Lighthouse  Hill  at 


40  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Antibes,  above  any  picture  to  be  seen  from  the  northern 
spurs  of  the  Sahel.  Let  us  be  just,  to  Piraeus  before  we 
are  generous  to  El  Biar.  But  all  this  is,  after  all,  a  mere 
matter  of  taste,  and  no  lover  of  the  picturesque  would  at 
any  rate  deny  that  the  Bay  of  Algiers,  as  viewed  from 
the  Mustapha  Hill,  ranks  deservedly  high  among  the 
most  beautiful  sights  of  the  Mediterranean.  And  when 
the  sunset  lights  up  in  rosy  tints  the  white  mole  and  the 
marble  town,  the  resulting  scene  is  sometimes  one  of 
almost  fairy-like  splendor. 

Indeed,  the  country  round  Mustapha  is  a  district  of 
singular  charm  and  manifold  beauty.  The  walks  and 
drives  are  delicious.  Great  masses  of  pale  white  clematis 
hang  in  sheets  from  the  trees,  cactus  and  aloe  run  riot 
among  the  glens,  sweet  scents  of  oleander  float  around 
the  deep  ravines,  delicious  perfumes  of  violets  are  wafted 
on  every  breeze  from  unseen  and  unsuspected  gardens. 
Nowhere  do  I  know  a  landscape  so  dotted  with  houses, 
and  nowhere  are  the  houses  themselves  so  individually 
interesting.  The  outlook  over  the  'bay,  the  green  dells 
of  the  foreground,  the  town  on  its  steep  acclivity,  the 
points  and  headlands,  and  away  above  all,  in  the  opposite 
direction,  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  the  Djurjura,  make  up 
a  picture  that,  after  all,  has  few  equals  or  superiors  on 
our  latter-day  planet. 

One  of  the  sights  of  Mustapha  is  the  Arab  cemetery, 
where  once  a  week  the  women  go  to  pray  and  wail,  with 
true  Eastern  hyperbole,  over  the  graves  of  their  dead 
relations.  By  the  custom  of  Islam  they  are  excluded 
from  the  mosques  and  from  all  overt  participation  in  the 
public  exercises  of  religion ;  but  these  open-air  temples 
not  made  with  hands,  even  the  Prophet  himself  has  never 
dared  to  close  to  them.  Ancestor-worship  and  the  vene- 


SEMITIC  IDOLATRY  41 

ration  of  the  kindred  dead  have  always  borne  a  large 
part  in  the  domestic  creed  of  the  less  civilized  Semites, 
and,  like  many  other  traces  of  heathenism,  this  antique 
cult  still  peeps  sturdily  through  the  thin  veil  of  Moham- 
medan monotheism.  Every  hillock  in  the  Atlas  outliers 
is  crowned  by  the  tiny  domed  tomb,  or  koubba,  of  some 
local  saint;  every  sacred  grove  overshadows  the  relics  of 
some  reverend  Marabout.  Nay,  the  very  oldest  forms 
of  Semitic  idolatry,  the  cult  of  standing  stones,  of  holy 
trees,  and  of  special  high  places  on  the  mountain-tops, 
survive  to  this  day  even  in  the  midst  of  Islam.  It  is  the 
women  in  particular  who  keep  alive  these  last  relics  of 
pre-Moslem  faith ;  it  is  the  women  that  one  may  see 
weeping  over  the  narrow  graves  of  their  loved  ones, 
praying  for  the  great  desire  of  the  Semitic  heart,  a  man- 
child  from  Allah,  before  the  sacred  tree  of  their  pagan 
ancestors,  or  hanging  rags  and  dolls  as  offerings  about 
the  holy  grove  which  encloses  the  divine  spring  of  pure 
and  hallowed  water. 

Algiers  is  thus  in  many  ways  a  most  picturesque 
winter  resort.  But  it  has  one  great  drawback :  the  climate 
is  moist  and  the  rainfall  excessive.  Those  who  go  there 
must  not  expect  the  dry  desert  breeze  that  renders  Luxor 
and  Assiout  so  wholesome  and  so  unpleasant.  Beautiful 
vegetation  means  rain  and  heat.  You  will  get  both  in 
Algiers,  and  a  fine  Mediterranean  tossing  on  your  jour- 
ney to  impress  it  on  your  memory. 


Ill 

MALAGA 

A  nearly  perfect  climate — Continuous  existence  of  thirty  cen- 
turies— Granada  and  the  world-renowned  Alhambra — Sys- 
tems of  irrigation — Vineyards  the  chief  source  of  wealth — 
Esparto  grass — The  famous  Cape  de  Gatt — The  highest  peak 
of  the  Sierra  Nevada — Last  view  of  Granada. 

MALAGA  has  been  very  differently  described  and 
appreciated.  The  Arab  chroniclers  who  knew 
it  in  the  palmy  days  of  the  Moorish  domina- 
tion considered  it  "  a  most  beautiful  city,  densely  peopled, 
large  and  most  excellent."  Some  rose  to  poetical  rhap- 
sody in  describing  it ;  they  praised  it  as  "  the  central 
jewel  of  a  necklace,  a  land  of  paradise,  the  pole  star,  the 
diadem  of  the  moon,  the  forehead  of  a  bewitching  beauty 
unveiled."  A  Spanish  poet  was  not  less  eloquent,  and 
sang  of  Malaga  as  "  the  enchantress,  the  home  of  eternal 
spring,  bathed  by  the  soft  sea,  nestling  amidst  flowers." 
Ford,  on  the  other  hand,  that  prince  of  guide-book 
makers,  who  knew  the  Spain  of  his  day  intimately  from 
end  to  end,  rather  despised  Malaga.  He  thought  it  a  fine 
but  purely  commercial  city,  having  "  few  attractions  be- 
yond climate,  almonds  and  raisins,  and  sweet  wine." 
Malaga  has  made  great  strides  nevertheless  in  the  fifty- 
odd  years  since  Ford  so  wrote  of  it  While  preserving 
many  of  the  charming  characteristics  which  evoked  such 

42 


GENERAL  VIEW  43 

high-flown  encomiums  in  the  past,  it  has  developed  con- 
siderably in  trade,  population,  and  importance.  It  grows  . 
daily ;  building  is  constantly  in  progress,  new  streets  are 
added  year  after  year  to  the  town.  Its  commerce  flour- 
ishes; its  port  is  filled  with  shipping  which  carry  off  its 
many  manufactures :  chocolate,  liquorice,  porous  jars,  and 
clay  figures,  the  iron  ores  that  are  smelted  on  the  spot ; 
the  multifarious  products  of  its  fertile  soil,  which  grows 
in  rich  profusion  the  choicest  fruits  of  the  earth :  grapes, 
melons,  plantains,  guava,  quince,  Japanese  medlars, 
oranges,  lemons,  and  prickly  years.  All  the  appliances 
and  luxurious  aids  to  comfort  known  to  our  latter-day 
civilization  are  to  be  found  in  Malaga:  several  theaters, 
one  of  them  an  opera  house,  clubs,  grand  hotels,  bankers, 
English  doctors,  cabs.  It  rejoices  too  in  an  indefeasible 
and  priceless  gift,  a  nearly  perfect  climate,  the  driest  and 
balmiest  in  Southern  Europe.  Rain  falls  in  Malaga  but 
half  a  dozen  days  in  the  year,  and  its  winter  sun  would 
shame  that  of  an  English  summer.  It  has  a  southern 
aspect,  and  is  sheltered  from  the  north  by  an  imposing 
range  of  mountains ;  its  only  trouble  is  the  terral  or  north- 
west wind,  the  same  disagreeable  visitor  as  that  known 
on  the  Italian  Riviera  as  the  Tramontana,  and  in  the 
south  of  France  as  the  Mistral.  These  climatic  advan- 
tages have  long  recommended  Malaga  as  a  winter  health 
resort  for  delicate  and  consumptive  invalids,  and  an  in- 
creasingly successful  rival  to  Madeira,  Malta,  and  Al- 
giers. The  general  view  of  this  city  of  sunshine,  looking 
westward,  to  which  point  it  lies  open,  is  pleasing  and 
varied;  luxuriant  southern  vegetation  aloes,  palmetto, 
and  palms,  fill  up  the  foreground ;  in  the  middle  distance 
are  the  dazzling  white  facades  and  towers  of  the  town, 
the  great  amphitheater  of  the  bull  ring,  the  tall  spire  of 


44  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  Cathedral  a  very  conspicuous  object,  the  whole  set 
off  by  the  dark  blue  Mediterranean,  and  the  reddish- 
purple  background  of  the  Sierra  Bermeja  or  Vermilion 
Hills. 

There  is  active  enjoyment  to  be  got  in  and  near  Malaga 
as  well  as  the  mere  negative  pleasure  of  a  calm,  lazy  life 
amid  beautiful  scenes.  It  is  an  excellent  point  of  de- 
parture for  interesting  excursions.  Malaga  lies  on  the 
fringe  of  a  country  full  of  great  memories,  and  preserv- 
ing many  curious  antiquarian  remains.  It  is  within  easy 
reach  by  rail  of  Granada  and  the  world-renowned  Al- 
hambra,  whence  the  ascent  of  the  great  southern  snowy 
range,  the  Sierra  Nevada,  may  be  made  with  pleasurable 
excitement  and  a  minimum  of  discomfort.  Other  towns 
closely  associated  with  great  events  may  also  be  visited : 
Alhama,  the  mountain  key  of  Granada,  whose  capture 
preluded  that  of  the  Moorish  capital  and  is  enshrined  in 
Byron's  beautiful  verse ;  Ronda,  the  wildly  picturesque 
town  lying  in  the  heart  of  its  own  savage  hills ;  Almeria, 
Antequera,  Archidona,  all  old  Moorish  towns.  By  the 
coast  road  westward,  a  two  days'  ride,  through  Estepona 
and  Marbella,  little  seaside  towns  bathed  by  the  tideless 
Mediterranean,  Gibraltar  may  be  reached.  Inland,  a 
day's  journey,  are  the  baths  of  Caratraca,  delightfully 
situated  in  a  narrow  mountain  valley,  a  cleft  of  the 
rugged  hill,  and  famous  throughout  Spain.  The  waters 
are  akin  to  those  of  Harrogate,  and  are  largely  patron- 
ized by  crowds  of  the  bluest-blooded  hidalgos,  the  most 
fashionable  people,  Spaniards  from  La  Corte  (Madrid), 
and  all  parts  of  the  Peninsula.  Yet  another  series  of 
riding  excursions  may  be  made  into  the  wild  Alpujarras, 
a  desolate  and  uncultivated  district  gemmed  with  bright 
oases  of  verdure,  which  are  best  reached  by  the  coast 


ROUTE  TO  GRANADA  45 

road  leading  from  Malaga  through  Velez  Malaga,  Motril 
to  Adra,  and  which  is  perhaps  the  pleasantest  route  to 
Granada  itself.  On  one  side  is  the  dark -blue  sea ;  on  the 
other,  vine-clad  hills :  this  is  a  land,  to  use  Ford's  words, 
"  overflowing  with  oil  and  wine ;  here  is  the  palm  with- 
out the  desert,  the  sugar-cane  without  the  slave ;  "  old 
Moorish  castles  perched  like  eagles'  eyries  crown  the 
hills ;  below  cluster  the  spires  and  towers  of  churches  and 
convents,  hemmed  in  by  the  richest  vegetation.  The 
whole  of  this  long  strip  of  coast  is  rich  with  the  alluvial 
deposits  brought  down  by  the  mountain  torrents  from 
the  snowy  Sierras  above ;  in  spring  time,  before  the  sum- 
mer heats  have  parched  the  land,  everything  flourishes 
here,  the  sweet  potato,  indigo,  sugar-cane  and  vine; 
masses  of  wild  flowers  in  innumerable  gay  colors,  the 
blue  iris,  the  crimson  oleander,  geraniums,  and  luxuriant 
festoons  of  maidenhair  ferns  bedeck  the  landscape  around. 
It  is  impossible  to  exaggerate  the  delights  of  these  riding 
trips ;  the  traveller  relying  upon  his  horse,  which  carries 
a  modest  kit,  enjoys  a  strange  sense  of  independence :  he 
can  go  on  or  stop,  as  he  chooses,  lengthen  or  shorten  his 
day's  journey,  which  takes  him  perpetually  and  at  the 
leisurely  pace  which  permits  ample  observation  of  the 
varied  views.  The  scene  changes  constantly:  now  he 
threads  a  half-dried  watercourse,  thick  with  palmetto  and 
gum  cistus ;  now  he  makes  the  slow  circuit  of  a  series 
of  little  rocky  bays  washed  by  the  tideless  calm  of  the 
blue  sea;  now  he  breasts  the  steep  slope,  the  seemingly 
perilous  ascent  of  bold  cliffs,  along  which  winds  the 
track  made  centuries  since  when  the  most  direct  was 
deemed  the  shortest  way  to  anywhere  in  spite  of  the  diffi- 
culties that  intervened. 

Malaga  as  a  seaport  and  place  of  settlement  can  claim 


46  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

almost  fabulous  antiquity.  It  was  first  founded  by  the 
Phoenicians  three  thousand  years  ago,  and  a  continuous 
existence  of  thirty  centuries  fully  proves  the  wisdom  of 
their  choice.  Its  name  is  said  to  be  Phoenician,  and  is 
differently  derived  from  a  word  meaning  salt,  and  an- 
other which  would  distinguish  it  as  "  the  king's  town." 
From  the  earliest  ages  Malaga  did  a  thriving  business  in 
salt  fish ;  its  chief  product  and  export  were  the  same 
anchovies  and  the  small  boquerones,  not  unlike  an  Eng- 
lish whitebait,  which  are  still  the  most  highly  prized  deli- 
cacies of  the  Malaga  fish  market.  Southern  Spain  was 
among  the  richest  and  most  valued  of  Phoenician  posses- 
sions. It  was  a  mine  of  wealth  to  them,  the  Tarshish  of 
Biblical  history  from  which  they  drew  such  vast  sup- 
plies of  the  precious  metals  that  their  ships  carried  silver 
anchors.  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre,  was  a  sort  of  goldsmith 
to  Solomon,  furnishing  the  wise  man's  house  with  such 
stores  of  gold  and  silver  utensils  that  silver  was  "  ac- 
counted nothing  therein,"  as  we  read  in  the  First  Book 
of  Kings.  When  the  star  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  waned,  and 
Carthage  became  the  great  commercial  center  of  the 
Mediterranean,  it  controlled  the  mineral  wealth  of  Spain 
and  traded  largely  with  Malaga.  Later,  when  Spain 
passed  entirely  into  Roman  hands,  this  southern  province 
of  Bcetica  grew  more  and  more  valuable,  and  the  wealth 
of  the  country  passed  through  its  ports  eastward  to  the 
great  marts  of  the  world.  Malaga  however,  was  never 
the  equal  either  in  wealth  or  commercial  importance  of 
its  more  eastern  and  more  happily  placed  neighbor  Al- 
meria.  The  latter  was  the  once  famous  "  Portus  Mag- 
nus," or  Great  Port,  which  monopolized  most  of  the 
maritime  traffic  with  Italy  and  the  more  distant  East. 
But  Malaga  rose  in  prosperity  as  Roman  settlers  crowded 


ANDALUCIA  47 

into  Boetica,  and  Roman  remains  excavated  in  and  around 
the  town  attest  the  size  and  importance  of  the  place  under 
the  Romans.  It  was  a  municipium,  had  a  fine  ampithea- 
ter,  the  foundations  of  which  were  laid  bare  long  after- 
wards in  building  a  convent,  while  many  bronzes,  frag- 
ments of  statuary,  and  Roman  coins  found  from  time  to 
time  prove  the  intimate  relations  between  Malaga  and 
the  then  Mistress  of  the  World.  The  Goths,  who  came 
next,  overran  Bcetica,  and  although  their  stay  was  short, 
they  rechristened  the  province,  which  is  still  known  by 
their  name,  the  modern  Andal-,  or  Vandalucia.  Malaga 
was  a  place  of  no  importance  in  the  time  of  the  Visigoths, 
and  it  declined,  only  to  rise  with  revived  splendor  under 
the  Moors,  when  it  reached  the  zenith  of  its  greatness> 
and  stood  high  in  rank  among  the  Hispano-Mauresque 
cities. 

It  was  the  same  one-eyed  Berber  General,  Tarik,  who 
took  Gibraltar  who  was  the  first  Moorish  master  of 
Malaga.  Legendary  story  still  associates  a  gate  in  the 
old  Moorish  castle,  the  Gibralfaro,  with  the  Moorish  in- 
vasion. This  Puerta  de  la  Cava  was  called,  it  has  been 
said,  after  the  ill-used  daughter  of  Count  Julyan  whose 
wrongs  led  to  the  appeal  to  Moorish  intervention.  But 
it  is  not  known  historically  that  Count  Julyan  had  a 
daughter  named  La  Cava,  or  any  daughter  at  all ;  nor 
is  it  likely  that  the  Moors  would  remember  the  Christian 
maiden's  name  as  sponsor  for  the  gate.  After  the 
Moorish  conquest  Malaga  fell  to  the  tribes  that  came 
from  the  river  Jordan,  a  pastoral  race  who  extended  their 
rule  to  the  open  lands  as  far  as  Archidona.  The  rich- 
ness of  their  new  possession  attracted  great  hordes  of 
Arabs  from  their  distant  homes ;  there  was  a  general 
exodus,  and  each  as  it  came  to  the  land  of  promise  settled 


48  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

where  they  found  anything  that  recalled  their  distant 
homes.  Thus  the  tribes  from  the  deserts  of  Palmyra 
found  a  congenial  resting-place  on  the  arid  coast  near 
Almeria  and  the  more  rugged  kingdom  of  Murcia;  the 
Syrian  mountaineers  established  themselves  amidst  the 
rocky  fastness  of  the  Ronda  Serrania;  while  those  from 
Damascus  and  Bagdad  reveled  in  the  luxuriant  beauty 
of  the  fertile  plains  watered  by  the  Xenil  and  Darro,  the 
great  Vega,  with  its  orange-groves  and  jeweled  gardens 
that  still  make  Granada  a  smiling  paradise. 

These  Moslem  conquerors  were  admirable  in  their  ad- 
ministration and  development  of  the  land  they  seized, 
quick  to  perceive  its  latent  resources  and  make  the  most 
of  them.  Malaga  itself  became  the  court  and  seat  of 
government  of  a  powerful  dynasty  whose  realms  ex- 
tended inland  as  far  as  Cordova,  and  the  region  around 
grew  under  their  energetic  and  enlightened  management 
into  one  great  garden  teeming  with  the  most  varied  vege- 
tation. What  chiefly  commended  Malaga  to  the  Moors 
was  the  beauty  of  its  climate  and  the  amazing  fertility 
of  the  soil.  The  first  was  a  God-sent  gift,  the  latter 
made  unstinting  return  for  the  labor  freely  but  intelli- 
gently applied.  Water  was  and  still  is  the  great  need 
of  those  thirsty  and  nearly  rainless  southern  lands,  and 
the  Moorish  methods  of  irrigation,  ample  specimens  of 
which  still  survive,  were  most  elaborate  and  effective  con- 
trivances for  distributing  the  fertilizing  fluid.  Many  of 
these  ancient  systems  of  irrigation  are  still  at  work  at 
Murcia,  Valencia,  Granada,  and  elsewhere.  The  Moors 
were  masters  of  hydraulic  science,  which  was  never  more 
widely  or  intelligently  practiced  than  in  the  East.  So 
the  methods  adopted  and  still  seen  in  Spain  have  their 
Oriental  prototypes  and  counterparts.  They  varied,  of 


IRRIGATION  49 

course,  with  the  character  of  the  district  to  be  irrigated 
and  the  sources  of  supply.  Where  rivers  and  running 
water  gave  the  material,  it  was  conveyed  in  canals ;  one 
main  trunk-line  or  artery  supplied  the  fluid  to  innumer- 
able smaller  watercourses  or  veins,  the  acequias,  which 
formed  a  reticulated  network  of  minute  ramifications. 
The  great  difficulty  in  the  plains,  and  this  was  especially 
the  case  about  Malaga,  was  to  provide  a  proper  fall, 
which  was  effected  either  by  carrying  the  water  to  a 
higher  level  by  an  aqueduct,  or  sinking  it  below  the  sur- 
face in  subterranean  channels.  Where  the  water  had  to 
be  raised  from  underground,  the  simple  pole,  on  which 
worked  an  arm  or  lever  with  a  bucket,  was  used,  the 
identical  "  shadoof  "  of  the  Nile ;  or  the  more  elaborate 
water-wheel,  the  Arab  Anaoura,  a  name  still  preserved 
in  the  Spanish  Noria,  one  of  which  is  figured  in  the  Al- 
meria  washing-place,  where  it  serves  the  gossiping 
lavanderas  at  their  work.  In  these  norias  the  motive 
power  is  usually  that  of  a  patient  ox,  which  works  a 
revolving  wheel,  and  so  turns  a  second  at  right  angles 
armed  with  jars  or  buckets.  These  descend  in  turn, 
coming  up  charged  with  water,  which  falls  over  into  a 
reservoir  or  pipe,  whence  it  flows  to  do  its  business 
below. 

Under  this  admirable  system  the  land  gives  forth  per- 
petual increases.  It  knows  no  repose.  Nothing  lies  fal- 
low. "  Man  is  never  weary  of  sowing,  nor  the  sun  of 
calling  into  life."  Crop  succeeds  crop  with  astonishing 
rapidity;  three  or  four  harvests  of  corn  are  reaped  in 
the  year,  twelve  or  fifteen  of  clover  and  lucerne.  All 
kinds  of  fruit  abound ;  the  margins  of  the  watercourses 
blossom  with  flowers  that  would  be  prized  in  a  hothouse, 
and  the  most  marvelous  fecundity  prevails.  By  these 


50  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

means  the  Moors  of  Malaga,  the  most  scientific  and  suc- 
cessful of  gardeners,  developed  to  the  utmost  the  mar- 
velously  prolific  soil.  Moorish  writers  described  the 
pomegranates  of  Malaga  as  red  as  rubies,  and  unequaled 
in  the  whole  world.  The  brevas,  or  small  green  figs, 
were  of  exquisitely  delicious  flavor,  and  still  merit  that 
encomium.  Grapes  were  a  drug  in  the  markets,  cheap 
as  dirt ;  while  the  raisins  into  which  they  were  converted, 
by  a  process  that  dates  back  to  the  Phoenicians,  found 
their  way  into  the  far  East  and  were  famous  in  Pales- 
tine, Arabia,  and  beyond.  The  vineyards  of  the  Malaga 
district,  a  wide  tract  embracing  all  the  southern  slopes 
towards  the  Mediterranean,  were,  and  still  are,  the  chief 
source  of  its  wealth.  The  wine  of  Malaga  could  tempt 
even  Mohammedan  Moors  to  forget  their  prophet's  pro- 
hibition ;  it  was  so  delicious  that  a  dying  Moor  when 
commending  his  soul  to  God  asked  for  only  two  bless- 
ings in  Paradise,  enough  to  drink  of  the  wines  of  Malaga 
and  Seville.  As  the  "  Mountains,"  this  same  wine  was 
much  drunk  and  appreciated  by  our  forefathers.  To 
this  day  "  Malaga  "  is  largely  consumed,  both  dry  and 
sweet,  especially  that  known  as  the  Lagrimas,  or  Tears, 
a  cognate  term  to  the  famous  Lachrymse  Christi  of 
Naples,  and  which  are  the  very  essence  of  the  rich  ripe 
grapes,  which  are  hung  up  in  the  sun  till  the  juice  flows 
from  them  in  luscious  drops.  Orange  groves  and  lemon 
groves  abound  in  the  Vega,  and  the  fruit  is  largely  ex- 
ported. The  collection  and  packing  are  done  at  points 
along  the  line  of  railway  to  which  Malaga  is  the  mari- 
time terminus,  as  at  La  Pizarra,  a  small  but  important 
station  which  is  the  starting  point  for  the  Baths  of  Cara- 
traca,  and  the  mountain  ride  to  Ronda  through  the  mag- 


LA  CONCEPCION  51 

nificent  pass  of  ELBurgo.  Of  late  years  Malaga  has 
become  a  species  of  market  garden,  in  which  large  quanti- 
ties of  early  vegetables  are  raised,  the  primeurs  of  French 
gourmets,  the  young  peas,  potatoes,  asparagus,  and  lettuce, 
which  are  sent  north  to  Paris  during  the  winter  months 
by  express  trains.  This  is  probably  a  more  profitable 
business  than  the  raising  of  the  sugar-cane,  an  industry 
introduced  (or  more  exactly,  revived,  for  it  was  known 
to  and  cultivated  by  the  Moors)  in  and  around  Malaga 
by  the  well-known  General  Concha,  Marques  del  Duero. 
He  spent  the  bulk  of  a  large  fortune  in  developing  the 
cane  cultivation,  and  almost  ruined  himself  in  this 
patriotic  endeavor.  Others  benefited  largely  by  his  well- 
meant  enterprise,  and  the  sugar  fields  of  southern  Spain 
prospered  until  the  German  beet  sugar  drove  the  home- 
grown hard.  The  climate  of  Malaga,  with  its  great  dry- 
ness  and  absolute  immunity  from  frost,  is  exceedingly 
favorable  to  the  growth  of  the  sugar-cane,  and  the  sugar 
fields  at  the  time  of  the  cutting  are  picturesque  centers 
of  activity.  The  best  idea,  however,  of  the  amazing  fer- 
tility of  this  gifted  country  will  be  obtained  from  a  visit 
to  one  of  the  private  residential  estates,  or  fincas,  such 
as  that  of  La  Concepcion,  where  palms,  bamboos,  arums, 
cicads  and  other  tropical  plants  thrive  bravely  in  the 
open  air.  It  is  only  a  short  drive,  and  is  well  worth  a 
visit.  The  small  Grecian  temple  is  full  of  Roman  re- 
mains, chiefly  from  Cartama,  the  site  of  a  great  Roman 
city  which  Livy  has  described.  Some  of  these  remains 
are  of  beautiful  marble  figures,  which  were  found,  like 
ordinary  stones,  built  into  a  prison  wall  and  rescued  with 
some  difficulty.  The  Malaga  authorities  annexed  them, 
thinking  they  contained  gold,  then  threw  them  away  as 


52  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

old  cubbish.  Other  remains  at  La  Concepcion  are  frag- 
ments of  the  Roman  municipal  law,  on  bronze  tablets, 
found  at  Osuna,  between  Antequera  and  Seville. 

Malaga  possesses  many  mementoes  of  the  Moors  be- 
sides their  methods  of  irrigation.  The  great  citadel 
jvhich  this  truly  militant  race  erected  upon  the  chief 
point  of  vantage  and  key  to  the  possession  of  Malaga 
still  remains.  This,  the  Castle  of  Gibralfaro,  the  rock 
of  the  lighthouse,  was  built  by  a  prince  of  Granada, 
Mohammed,  upon  the  site  of  a  Phoenician  fortress,  and 
it  was  so  strongly  fortified  and  held  that  it  long  resisted 
the  strenuous  efforts  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  in  the 
memorable  siege  which  prefaced  the  fall  of  Granada. 
How  disgracefully  the  Catholic  kings  ill-treated  the  con- 
quered Moors  of  Malaga,  condemning  them  to  slavery 
or  the  auto  da  fe,  may  be  read  in  the  pages  of  Prescott. 
The  towers  of  the  Gibralfaro  still  standing  have  each  a 
story  of  its  own :  one  was  the  atalaya,  or  watch-tower ; 
on  another,  that  of  La  Vela,  a  great  silver  cross  was 
erected  when  the  city  surrendered.  Below  the  Gibralfaro, 
but  connected  with  it  and  forming  part  of  the  four  deep 
city  walls,  is  the  Alcazaba,  another  fortification  utilized 
by  the  Moors,  but  the  fortress  they  raised  stands  upon 
Phoenician  foundations.  The  quarter  that  lies  below 
these  Moorish  strongholds  is  the  most  ancient  part  of 
Malaga,  a  wilderness  of  dark,  winding  alleys  of  Oriental 
aspect,  and  no  doubt  of  Moorish  origin.  This  is  the 
home  of  the  lower  classes,  of  the  turbulent  masses  who 
have  in  all  ages  been  a  trial  and  trouble  to  the  authori- 
ties of  the  time.  The  Malaguenos,  the  inhabitants  of 
Malaga,  whether  Moors  or  Spaniards,  have  ever  been 
rebellious  subjects  of  their  liege  lords,  and  uncomfortable 


REBELLIOUS  SUBJECTS'  53 

neighbors  to  one  another.  In  all  their  commotions  they 
have  generally  espoused  the  cause  which  has  ultimately 
failed. 

Thus,  in  1831,  Riego  and  Torrijos  having  been  in 
open  revolt  against  the  Government,  were  lured  into 
embarking  for  Malaga  from  Gibraltar,  where  they  had 
assembled,  by  its  military  commandant  Moreno,  and  shot 
down  to  a  man  on  the  beach  below  the  Carmen  Convent. 
Among  the  victims  was  an  Englishman,  Mr.  Boyd,  whose 
unhappy  fate  led  to  sharp  protests  from  England.  Since 
this  massacre  a  tardy  tribute  has  been  raised  to  the 
memory  of  the  slain ;  it  stands  in  the  shape  of  a  monu- 
ment in  the  Plaza  de  Riego,  the  Alameda.  Again, 
Malaga  sided  with  Espartero  in  1843,  when  he  "  pro- 
nounced "  but  had  to  fly  into  exile.  Once  more,  in  1868, 
the  Malaguenos  took  up  arms  upon  the  losing  side,  fight- 
ing for  the  dethroned  Isabella  Segunda  against  the  suc- 
cessful soldiers  who  had  driven  her  from  Madrid. 
Malaga  was  long  and  obstinately  defended,  but  eventu- 
ally succumbed  after  a  sanguinary  struggle.  Last  of  all. 
after  the  abdication  of  Amadeus  in  1873,  the  Republicans 
of  Malaga  rose,  and  carried  their  excesses  so  far  as  to 
establish  a  Communistic  regime,  which  terrorized  the 
town.  The  troops  disbanded  themselves,  their  weapons 
were  seized  by  the  worst  elements  of  the  population,  who 
held  the  reins  of  power,  the  local  authorities  having 
taken  to  flight.  The  mob  laid  hands  on  the  custom- 
house and  all  public  moneys,  levied  contributions  upon 
the  more  peaceable  citizens,  then  quarreled  among  them- 
selves and  fought  out  their  battles  in  the  streets,  sweep- 
ing them  with  artillery  fire,  and  threatening  a  general 
bombardment.  Order  was  not  easily  restored  or  without 


54  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  display  of  armed  force,  but  the  condign  punishment 
of  the  more  blameworthy  has  kept  Malaga  quiet  ever 
since. 

While  the  male  sex  among  the  masses  of  Malaga  enjoy 
an  indifferent  reputation,  her  daughters  of  all  classes  are 
famed  for  their  attractiveness,  even  in  Spain,  the  home, 
par  excellence,  of  a  well-favored  race.  "  Muchachas 
Malaguenas,  muy  halaguenas  "  (the  girls  of  Malaga  are 
motet  bewitching)  is  a  proverbial  expression,  the  truth  of 
which  has  been  attested  by  many  appreciative  observers. 
Theophile  Gautier's  description  of  them  is  perhaps  the 
most  complimentary.  The  Malaguena,  he  tells  us,  is  re- 
markable for  the  even  tone  of  her  complexion  (the  cheek 
having  no  more  color  than  the  forehead),  the  rich  crim- 
son of  her  lips,  the  delicacy  of  her  nostril,  and  above  all 
the  brilliancy  of  her  Arab  eyes,  which  might  be  tinged 
with  henna,  they  are  so  languorous  and  so  almond- 
shaped.  "  I  cannot  tell  whether  or  not  it  was  the  red 
draperies  of  their  headgear,  but  their  faces  exhibited 
gravity  combined  with  passion  that  was  quite  Oriental 
in  character."  Gautier  drew  this  picture  of  the  Mala- 
guenas as  he  saw  them  at  a  bull-fight,  and  he  expresses 
a  not  unnatural  surprise  that  sweet,  Madonna-like  faces, 
which  might  well  inspire  the  painter  of  sacred  subjects, 
should  look  on  unmoved  at  the  ghastly  episodes  of  the 
blood-stained  ring.  It  shocked  him  to  see  the  deep  in- 
terest with  which  these  pale  beauties  followed  the  fight, 
to  hear  the  feats  of  the  arena  discussed  by  sweet  lips 
that  might  speak  more  suitably  of  softer  things.  Yet  he 
found  them  simple,  tender-hearted,  good,  and  concluded 
that  it  was  not  cruelty  of  disposition  but  the  custom  of 
the  country  that  drew  them  to  this  savage  show.  Since 
then  the  bull-fight,  shorn,  however,  of  its  worst  horrors, 


ALMERIA  55 

has  become  acclimatized  and  most  popular  amidst  M. 
Gautier's  own  country-women  in  Paris.  That  the  beauty 
of  the  higher  ranks  rivals  that  of  the  lowest  may  be 
inferred  from  the  fact  that  a  lady  whose  charms  were 
once  celebrated  throughout  Europe  is  of  Malaguefian 
descent.  The  mother  of  the  Empress  Eugenie,  who 
shared  with  Napoleon  III.  the  highest  honors  in  France, 
was  a  Malaga  girl,  a  Miss  Fitzpatrick,  the  daughter  of 
the  British  consul,  but  she  had  also  Spanish  blood  in 
her  veins. 

A  near  neighbor  and  old  rival,  as  richly  endowed,  may 
again  pass  Malaga  in  the  great  race  for  commercial  ex- 
pansion. This  is  Almeria,  which  lies  farther  eastward 
and  which  owns  many  natural  advantages;  its  exposed 
port  has  been  improved  by  the  construction  of  piers  and 
breakwaters,  and  it  now  offers  a  secure  haven  to  the 
shipping  that  should  ere  long  be  attracted  in  increasing 
tonnage  to  carry  away  the  rich  products  of  the  neighbor- 
ing districts.  Almeria  is  the  capital  of  a  province  teem- 
ing with  mineral  wealth,  and  whose  climate  and  soil 
favor  the  growth  of  the  most  varied  and  valuable  crops. 
The  silver  mines  of  the  mountains  of  Murcia  and  the 
fertile  valleys  of  the  Alpujarras  would  find  their  best 
outlet  at  Almeria,  while  Granada  would  once  more  serve 
as  its  farm.  So  ran  the  old  proverb,  "  When  Almeria 
was  really  Almeria,  Granada  was  only  its  alqueria,"  or 
source  of  supply.  What  this  time-honored  but  almost 
forgotten  city  most  needs  is  to  be  brought  into  touch 
with  the  railway  systems  of  Spain.  Meanwhile,  Almeria, 
awaiting  better  fortune,  thrives  on  the  exports  of  its  own 
products,  chief  among  which  are  grapes  and  esparto. 
The  first  has  a  familiar  sound  to  British  ears,  from  the 
green  grapes  known  as  "  Almerias,"  which  are  largely 


56  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

consumed  in  British  households.  These  are  not  equal  to 
the  delicately  flavored  Muscatels,  but  they  are  stronger 
and  will  bear  the  packing  and  rough  usages  of  exporta- 
tion under  which  the  others  perish.  Esparto  is  a  natural 
product  of  these  favored  lands,  which,  after  long  supply- 
ing local  wants,  has  now  become  an  esteemed  item  in 
their  list  of  exports.  It  is  known  to  botanists  as  the 
Spanish  rush,  or  bass  feather  grass,  the  Genet  d'Espagne, 
and  is  compared  by  Ford  to  the  "  spear  grass  which 
grows  on  the  sandy  sea-shores  of  Lancashire."  It  is  still 
manufactured,  as  in  the  days  of  Pliny,  into  matting, 
baskets,  ropes,  and  the  soles  for  the  celebrated  Alpar- 
gatas,  or  rope  sandal  shoes,  worn  universally  by  Spanish 
peasants  in  the  south  and  Spanish  soldiers  on  the  line  of 
march.  The  ease  and  speed  with  which  the  Spanish  in- 
fantry cover  long  distances  are  greatly  attributed  to  their 
comfortable  chaussures.  Nowadays  a  much  wider  out- 
let has  been  found  for  esparto  grass,  and  it  is  grown 
artificially.  When  rags  became  more  and  more  scarce 
and  unequal  to  the  demands  of  the  paper-makers,  experi- 
ments were  made  with  various  substitutes,  and  none  an- 
swered the  purpose  better  than  the  wild  spear-grass  of 
southern  Spain. 

Almeria,  while  awaiting  the  return  of  maritime  pros- 
perity, can  look  with  some  complacency  upon  a  memor- 
able if  not  altogether  glorious  past.  Its  very  names, 
Portus  Magnus  under  the  Romans,  and  Al  Meriah,  the 
"  Conspicuous,"  under  the  Moors,  attest  its  importance. 
All  the  agricultural  produce  of  the  prolific  Vega,  the 
silks  that  were  woven  on  Moorish  looms  and  highly 
prized  through  the  East,  were  brought  to  Almeria  for 
transmission  abroad.  The  security  and  convenience  of 
this  famous  port  gave  it  an  evil  reputation  in  after  years, 


THE  ALCAZABA  57 

when  it  became  an  independent  kingdom  under  Ibn  May- 
mum.  Almeria  was  the  terror  of  the  Mediterranean ;  its 
pirate  galleys  roved  to  and  fro,  making  descents  upon 
the  French  and  Italian  coasts,  and  carrying  back  their 
booty,  slaves,  and  prizes  to  their  impregnable  home. 
Spaniards  and  Genoese  presently  combined  against  the 
common  enemy,  and  Almeria  was  one  of  the  earliest 
Christian  conquests  regained  from  the  Moors.  Later 
still  the  Algerian  Moors  took  fresh  revenge,  and  their 
corsairs  so  constantly  threatened  Almeria  that  Charles  V. 
repaired  its  ancient  fortifications,  the  old  Moorish  castle 
now  called  the  Alcazaba,  the  center  or  keep,  and  hung 
a  great  tocsin  bell  upon  its  cathedral  tower  to  give  no- 
tice of  the  pirates'  approach.  This  cathedral  is  the  most 
imposing  object  in  the  decayed  and  impoverished  town. 
Pigs  and  poultry  roam  at  large  in  the  streets,  amidst  dirt 
and  refuse ;  but  in  the  strong  sunlight,  white  and  blind- 
ing as  in  Africa,  the  mean  houses  glisten  brightly,  and 
the  abundant  color  seen  on  awnings  and  lattice,  upon  the 
women's  skirts  and  kerchiefs,  in  the  ultramarine  sea,  is 
brought  out  in  the  most  vivid  and  beautiful  relief. 

The  scenery  on  the  coast  from  Malaga  eastward  is  fine, 
in  some  parts  and  under  certain  aspects  magnificent. 
Beyond  Almeria  is  the  famous  Cape  de  Gatt,  as  it  is 
known  to  our  mariners,  the  Cabo  de  Gata  of  local  par- 
lance, the  Agate  Cape,  to  give  it  its  precise  meaning. 
This  remarkable  promontory,  composed  of  rocks  en- 
crusted with  gems,  is  worthy  a  place  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  There  are  miles  and  miles  of  agates  and  crys- 
tal spar,  and  in  one  particular  spot  amethysts  are  found. 
Wild  winds  gather  and  constantly  bluster  about  this  richly 
constituted  but  often  storm-tossed  landmark.  Old  sailor 
saws  have  perpetuated  its  character  in  the  form  of  a 


58  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

proverb,  "  At  the  Cape  de  Gatt  take  care  of  your  hat." 
Other  portions  of  the  coast  nearer  Malaga  are  still  more 
forbidding  and  dangerous :  under  the  Sierra  Tejada,  for 
example,  where  the  rocky  barriers  which  guard  the  land 
rise  tier  above  tier  as  straight  as  a  wall,  in  which  there 
are  no  openings,  no  havens  of  safety  for  passing  craft  in 
an  inshore  gale.  Behind  all,  a  dim  outline  joining  hands 
as  it  were  with  the  clouds,  towers  the  great  snowy  range 
of  southern  Spain,  the  Sierra  Nevada,  rejoicing  in  an 
elevation  as  high  as  the  Swiss  Alps,  and  in  some  respects 
far  more  beautiful. 

There  are,  however,  no  such  grim  glaciers,  no  such 
vast  snow-fields  as  in  Switzerland,  for  here  in  the  south 
the  sun  has  more  power,  and  even  at  these  heights  only 
the  peaks  and  pinnacles  wear  white  crests  during  the 
summer  heats.  This  more  genial  temperature  encour- 
ages a  richer  vegetation,  and  makes  the  ascents  less  per- 
ilous and  toilsome.  A  member  of  the  Alpine  Club  would 
laugh  to  scorn  the  conquest  of  Muley  Hacen,  or  of  the 
Picacho  de  la  Veleta,  the  two  crowning  peaks  of  the 
range.  The  enterprise  is  within  the  compass  of  the  most 
moderate  effort.  The  ascent  of  the  last-named  and  low- 
est, although  the  most  picturesque,  is  the  easiest  made, 
because  the  road  from  Granada  is  most  direct.  In  both 
cases  the  greatest  part  of  the  climbing  is  performed  on 
horseback;  but  this  must  be  done  a  day  in  advance,  and 
thus  a  night  has  to  be  passed  near  the  summit  under  the 
stars.  The  temperature  is  low,  and  the  travellers  can 
only  defend  themselves  against  the  cold  by  the  wraps 
they  have  brought  and  the  fuel  they  can  find  (mere 
knotted  roots)  around  their  windy  shelter.  The  ascent 
to  where  the  snow  still  lingers,  in  very  dirty  and  dis- 
reputable patches,  is  usually  commenced  about  two  in  the 


THE  SIERRA  NEVADA  59 

morning,  so  that  the  top  may  be  reached  before  dawn. 
If  the  sky  is  clear,  sunrise  from  the  Picacho  is  a  scene 
that  can  never  be  forgotten,  fairly  competing  with,  if  not 
outrivaling,  the  most  famous  views  of  the  kind.  The 
Mediterranean  lies  below  like  a  lake,  bounded  to  the 
north  and  west  by  the  Spanish  coast,  to  the  south  by  the 
African,  the  faintest  outlines  of  which  may  often  be  seen 
in  the  far,  dim  distance.  Eastward  the  horizon  is  made 
glorious  by  the  bright  pageants  of  the  rising  sun,  whose 
majestic  approach  is  heralded  by  rainbow-hued  clouds. 
All  around  are  the  strangely  jagged  and  contorted  peaks, 
rolling  down  in  diminishing  grandeur  to  the  lower  peaks 
that  seem  to  rise  from  the  sea. 

The  highest  peak  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  is  Muley 
Hacen,  although  it  has  only  the  advantage  over  the 
Picacho  de  la  Veleta  by  about  a  couple  of  hundred  feet. 
It  is  a  longer  and  more  difficult  ascent,  but  in  some  ways 
the  most  interesting,  as  it  can  best  be  reached  through  the 
Alpuj arras,  those  romantic  and  secluded  valleys  which 
are  full  of  picturesque  scenery  and  of  historical  associa- 
tions. The  starting  point,  as  a  general  rule,  is  Trevelez, 
although  the  ascent  may  be  equally  made  from  Portugos, 
somewhat  nearer  Granada.  Trevelez  is  the  other  side 
and  the  most  convenient  coming  from  Malaga  by  way 
of  Motril.  But  no  one  would  take  the  latter  route  who 
could  travel  by  the  former,  which  leads  through  Alhen- 
din,  that  well-known  village  which  is  said  to  have  seen 
the  last  of  the  departing  Moors.  This  is  the  point  at 
which  Granada  is  finally  lost  to  view,  and  it  was  here 
that  Boabdil,  the  last  king  of  Granada,  took  his  last 
farewell  of  the  city  whose  loss  he  wept  over,  under  the 
scathing  sarcasm  of  his  more  heroic  mother,  who  told 
him  he  might  well  "  weep  like  a  woman  for  what  he 


60  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

could  not  defend  as  a  man."  Near  this  village  is  the 
little  hill  still  known  as  the  site  of  "  El  Ultimo  Suspiro 
del  Moro,  the  last  sigh  of  the  Moor."  This  same  road 
leads  through  Lanjaron,  an  enchanting  spot,  posted  high 
upon  a  spur  of  the  hills,  and  famous  as  a  bathing  place 
with  health-giving  mineral  springs.  From  Portugos  or 
Trevelez  the  climb  is  easy  enough :  to  be  accomplished  a 
great  part  of  the  way  on  horseback,  and  in  its  earlier 
levels  ascending  amid  forests  of  evergreen  oak;  after 
that,  long  wastes  of  barren  rock  are  passed,  till  at  length 
the  summit  is  reached,  on  a  narrow  strip  of  table-land, 
the  highest  in  Southern  Europe,  and  with  an  unrivaled 
view.  The  charm  of  the  Muley  Hacen  peak  is  its  isola- 
tion, while  the  Picacho  looks  better  from  it  than  Muley 
Hacen  does  from  the  Picacho,  and  there  is  a  longer  vista 
across  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 


IV 
BARCELONA 

The  flower  market  of  the  Rambla— Streets  of  the  old  town — The 
Cathedral  of  Barcelona — Description  of  the  Columbus  monu- 
ment— All  Saints'  Day  in  Spain—  Mont  Tibidaho— Diverse 
centers  of  intellectual  activity — Ancient  history— Philanthropic 
and  charitable  institutions. 


B 


4CTP\ARCELONA,  shrine  of  courtesy,  harbor  of  the 
wayfarer,  shelter  of  the  poor,  cradle  of  the 
brave,    champion    of   the    outraged,    nurse   of 
friendship,  unique  in  position,  unique  in  beauty !  " 

Such  was  the  eulogium  bestowed  upon  Barcelona  by 
the  great  Cervantes  several  hundred  years  ago,  an  eulo- 
gium warranted  by  a  stranger's  experience  in  our  own 
day.  The  matchless  site  of  the  second  city  of  Spain,  its 
luxuriant  surroundings,  awaken  enthusiasm  as  of  old, 
whilst  even  the  briefest  possible  sojourn  suffices  to  make 
us  feel  at  home.  A  winning  urbanity,  a  cosmopolitan  ami- 
ableness,  characterize  the  townsfolk,  Spanish  hauteur  is 
here  replaced  by  French  cordiality.  Softness  of  manner 
and  graces  of  speech  lend  additional  charm  to  a  race  con- 
spicuous for  personal  beauty.  The  Barcelonese  are  de- 
scribed by  a  contemporary  as  laborious  and  energetic, 
ambitious  of  social  advance,  tenacious  of  personal  dignity, 
highly  imaginative,  at  the  same  time  eminently  practical, 
steadfast  in  friendship,  vehement  in  hate.  The  stir  and 

61 


62  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

magnificence  of  the  city  attest  the  progressive  character 
of  the  inhabitants. 

Few  European  capitals  can  boast  of  finer  public  monu- 
ments, few  indeed  possess  such  a  promenade  as  its  famous 
Rambla.  The  Rambla  may  be  regarded  as  an  epitome, 
not  only  of  the  entire  city,  but  of  all  Spain,  and  here  the 
curious  traveller  should  take  up  his  quarters.  A  dozen 
brilliant  or  moving  spectacles  meet  the  eye  in  a  day, 
whilst  the  normal  aspect  is  one  of  unimaginable  pictur- 
esqueness  and  variety.  The  dark-eyed  flower-girls  with 
their  rich  floral  displays;  the  country  folks  still  adhering 
to  the  costume  of  Catalonia — the  men  sandaled  and 
white-hosed,  for  headgear,  slouch  caps  of  crimson,  scarlet, 
or  peach-  colored  felt,  the  women  with  gorgeous  silk  ker- 
chiefs pinned  under  the  chin — the  Asturian  nursemaids 
in  poppy-red  skirts  barred  with  black,  and  dainty  gold 
and  lace  caps ;  the  ladies  fanning  themselves  as  they  go  in 
November,  with  black  lace  mantillas  over  their  pretty 
heads ;  the  Guardia  Civile  in  big,  awe-inspiring  cocked 
hats  and  long  black  cloaks  reaching  to  the  ankle;  the 
trim  soldiery  in  black  and  red  tunics,  knickerbockers  and 
buskins,  their  officers  ablaze  with  gold  braid  and  lace; 
the  spick-and-span  city  police,  each  neat  as  a  dandy  in  a 
melodrama,  not  a  hair  out  of  place,  collars  and  cuffs  of 
spotless  white,  ironed  to  perfection,  well-fitting  costumes, 
swords  at  their  sides ;  the  priests  and  nuns ;  the  seafaring 
folk  of  many  nationalities;  the  shepherds  of  uncouth  ap- 
pearance from  the  neighboring  mountains — all  these  at 
first  make  us  feel  as  if  we  were  taking  part  in  a  mas- 
querade. 

Now  way  is  made  for  the  funeral  train  of  some  rich 
citizen,  the  lofty,  car  of  sumptuous  display  of  black  and 
gold  drapery,  wreaths  of  fresh  roses,  violet,  and  helio- 


THE  FLOWER  MARKET  63 

trope,  large  as  carriage-wheels,  fastened  to  the  sides,  the 
coffin,  encased  in  black  and  violet  velvet,  studded  with 
gold  nails;  following  slowly,  a  long  procession  of  car- 
riages bearing  priests,  choristers,  and  mourners.  And  now 
the  sounds  of  martial  music  summon  the  newcomer  a  sec- 
ond time  to  his  window.  It  is  a  soldier  who  is  borne  to 
his  rest.  Six  comrades  accompany  the  bier,  carrying  long 
inverted  tapers;  behind  march  commanding  officers  and 
men,  the  band  playing  strains  all  too  spirited  it  seems  for 
such  an  occasion.  There  is  always  something  going  on 
in  this -splendid  avenue  animated  from  early  morning  till 
past  midnight,  market-place,  parade  ground,  promenade  in 
one. 

The  daily  flower-market  of  itself  would  almost  repay 
the  journey  «from  London.  When  northern  skies  are 
gloomiest,  and  fogs  are  daily  fare,  the  Rambla  is  at  its 
best.  The  yellowing  leaves  of  the  plane-trees  look  golden 
under  the  dazzling  blue  sky,  and  brilliant  as  in  a  picture 
are  the  flower-sellers  and  their  wares.  These  distract- 
ingly  pretty  girls,  with  their  dark  locks  pulled  over  the 
brow,  their  lovely  eyes,  rich  olive  complexions,  and  gleam- 
ing white  teeth,  have  nothing  of  the  mendicant  about 
them.  As  they  offer  their  flowers — perhaps  fastening 
roses  to  a  half-finished  garland  with  one  hand,  wtiilst  with 
the  other  a  pot  of  heliotrope  is  reached  down — the  passer- 
by is  engagingly  invited  to  purchase.  The  Spanish  lan- 
guage, even  the  dialect  of  Catalonia,  is  music  to  begin 
with,  and  the  flower-maidens  make  it  more  musical  still 
by  their  gentle,  caressing  ways.  Some  wear  little  mantil- 
las of  black,  blonde,  or  cashmere;  others,  silk  kerchiefs 
of  brightest  hue — orange,  crimson,  deep  purple,  or  fan- 
ciful patterns  of  many  colors.  Barcelona  is  a  flower-gar- 
den all  the  year  round,  and  in  mid-winter  we  stroll  be- 


64  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

tween  piled-up  masses  of  rose,  carnation,  and  violet,  to 
say  nothing  of  dahlias  and  chrysanthemums. 

It  is  especially  on  All  Saints'  and  All  Souls'  Days  that 
the  flower-market  of  the  Rambla  is  seen  to  advantage; 
enormous  sums  are  spent  upon  wreaths  and  garlands  for 
the  cemetery,  the  poorest  then  contriving  to  pay  his  floral 
tribute  to  departed  kith  and  kin. 

In  striking  contrast  with  the  wide,  airy,  ever  brilliantly 
illuminated  Rambla,  electric  light  doing  duty  for  sunshine 
at  night,  are  the  streets  of  the  old  town.  The  stranger 
may  take  any  turning — either  to  right  or  left — he  is  sure 
to  find  himself  in  one  of  these  dusky  narrow  thorough- 
fares, so  small  ofttimes  the  space  between  window  and 
opposite  window  that  neighbors  might  almost  shake 
hands.  With  their  open  shops  of  gay  woolen  stuffs,  they 
vividly  recall  Cairene  bazaars.  Narrow  as  is  the  accom- 
modation without,  it  must  be  narrower  still  within,  since 
when  folks  move  from  one  house  to  another  their  goods 
and  chattels  are  hoisted  up  and  passed  through  the  front 
windows.  The  sight  of  a  chest  of  drawers  or  a  sofa  in 
cloudland  is  comical  enough,  although  the  system  certainly 
has  its  advantages.  Much  manual  labor  is  thereby  spared, 
and  the  furniture  doubtless  escapes  injury  from  knocking 
about. 

The  wise  traveller  will  elect  to  live  on  the  Rambla,  but 
to  spend  his  time  in  the  old  town.  Wherever  he  goes  he 
is  sure  to  come  upon  some  piece  of  antiquity,  whilst  here, 
in  a  great  measure,  he  loses  sight  of  the  cosmopolitan  ele- 
ment characterizing  the  new  quarters.  Novel  and  strik- 
ing as  is  its  aspect  to  the  stranger,  Barcelona  must  never- 
theless be  described  as  the  least  Spanish  of  Spanish  towns. 
The  second  seaport  of  Spain  is  still — as  it  was  in  the 
Middle  Ages — one  of  the  most  important  seats  of  inter- 


THE  CATHEDRAL  65 

national  commerce  on  the  Mediterranean.  As  we  elbow 
our  way  along  the  crowded  Rambla  we  encounter  a  diver- 
sity of  types  and  hear  a  perplexing  jargon  of  many 
tongues.  A  few  minutes  suffice  to  transport  us  into  the 
old-world  city  familiar  to  Ford — not,  however,  to  be  de- 
scribed by  the  twentieth  century  tourist  in  Ford's  own 
words.  "  A  difficult  language,"  he  wrote  just  upon  half 
a  century  ago,  "  rude  manners,  and  a  distrust  of  stran- 
gers, render  Barcelona  a  disagreeable  city."  Nowhere 
nowadays  is  more  courtesy  shown  to  the  inquiring 
stranger.  He  is  not  even  obliged  to  ask  his  way  in  these 
narrow  tortuous  streets.  The  city  police,  to  be  found  at 
every  turn,  uninvited  come  to  his  aid,  and,  bringing  out  a 
pocket-map,  with  an  infinity  of  pains  make  clear  to  him 
the  route  he  has  to  take.  The  handsome  Calle  San  Fer- 
nando leads  to  the  somber  but  grandiose  old  Cathedral 
with  its  lovely  cloisters,  magnificent  towers  and  bells, 
deep-voiced  as  that  of  Big  Ben  itself.  All  churches  in 
Spain,  by  the  way,  must  be  visited  in  the  forenoon ;  even 
then  the  light  is  so  dim  that  little  can  be  seen  of  their 
treasures — pictures,  reliquaries,  marble  tombs.  The  Ca- 
thedral of  Barcelona  forms  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
Only  lighted  by  windows  of  richly  stained  old  glass, 
we  are  literally  compelled  to  grope  our  way  along  the 
crowded  aisles.  Mass  is  going  on  from  early  morning 
till  noon,  and  in  the  glimmering  jeweled  light  we  can 
just  discern  the  moving  figures  of  priests  and  acolytes 
before  the  high  altar,  and  the  scattered  worshippers  kneel- 
ing on  the  floor.  Equally  vague  are  the  glimpses  we 
obtain  of  the  chapels,  veritable  little  museums  of  rare  and 
beautiful  things  unfortunately  consigned  to  perpetual 
obscurity,  veiled  in  never-fading  twilight.  What  a  change 
we  find  outside!  The  elegant  Gothic  cloisters,  rather 


66  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  be  described  as  a  series  of  chapels,  each  differing  from 
the  other,  each  sumptuously  adorned,  enclose  a  sunny 
open  space  or  patio,  planted  with  palms,  orange  and  lemon 
trees,  the  dazzlingly  bright  foliage  and  warm  blue  sky 
in  striking  contrast  to  the  somber  gray  of  the  building- 
stone.  A  little  farther  off,  on  the  other  side,  we  may  see 
the  figures  of  the  bell-ringers  high  up  in  the  open  belfry 
tower,  swinging  the  huge  bells  backwards  and  forwards 
with  tremendous  effort,  a  sight  never  to  be  missed  on 
Sundays  and  fete  days. 

/  This  stately  old  Cathedral,  like  so  many  others,  was 
never  finished  and  works  of  reparation  and  restoration 
are  perpetually  going  on.  Close  by  stands  the  Palais  de 
Justice,  with  its  beautiful  Gothic  court  and  carved  stone 
staircase,  the  balustrade  supported  by  lovely  little  statu- 
ettes or  gargoyles,  each  an  artistic  study  in  itself.  Abut- 
ting this  is  the  Palais  de  Diputacion,  Provincial  or  local 
Parliament  House,  a  building  of  truly  Spanish  grandeur. 
Its  wide  marble  staircases,  its  elaborate  ceilings  of  carved 
wood,  its  majestic  proportions,  will,  perhaps,  have  less  in- 
terest for  some  travellers  than  its  art-treasures,  two  chefs 
d'ceuvre  of  the  gifted  Fortuny.  Barcelona  was  the  patron 
of  this  true  genius — Catalan  by  birth — so  unhappily  cut 
off  in  his  early  prime.  With  no  little  pride  the  stately 
officials  show  these  canvases — the  famous  "  Odalisque  " 
and  the  "  Battle  of  Tetuan  " — the  latter,  alas !  left  un- 
finished. It  is  a  superb  piece  of  life  and  color,  but  must 
be  seen  on  a  brilliant  day  as  the  hall  is  somber.  Nothing 
can  exceed  the  courtesy  of  the  Barcelonese  to  strangers, 
and  these  pictures  are  shown  out  of  the  regular  hours. 
But  let  no  one  incautiously  offer  a  fee.  The  proffered 
coin  will  be  politely,  even  smilingly,  rejected,  without  hu- 
miliating reproof,  much  less  a  look  of  affront.  Ford's 


ARCHIVES  OF  BARCELONA  67 

remark  that  "  a  silver  key  at  all  times  secures  admis- 
sion "  does  not  hold  good  in  these  days. 

Near  the  Cathedral,  law  courts,  and  Provincial  Parlia- 
ment House  stands  another  picturesque  old  palace  of 
comparatively  modern  date,  yet  Saracenic  aspect,  and 
containing  one  of  the  most  curious  historic  treasures  in 
Europe.  This  is  the  palace  of  the  kings  of  Aragon,  or 
Archivo  General  de  la  Corona  de  Aragon.  The  exterior, 
as  is  usual  with  Spanish  buildings,  is  massive  and  gloomy. 
Inside  is  a  look  of  Oriental  lightness  and  gaiety.  Slen- 
der columns,  painted  red,  enclose  an  open  court,  and  sup- 
port a  little  terrace  planted  with  shrubs  and  flowers. 
Here  in  perfect  order  and  preservation,  without  a  break, 
are  stored  the  records  of  upwards  of  a  thousand  years, 
the  earlier  consisting  of  vellum  scrolls  and  black  letter, 
the  latter  showing  the  progress  of  printing  from  its  be- 
ginning down  to  our  own  day.  The  first  parchment  bears 
date  A.  D.  875.  Among  the  curiosities  of  the  collection 
are  no  less  than  eight  hundred  and  two  Papal  Bulls  from 
the  year  1017  to  1796.  Besides  the  archives  of  Barcelona 
itself,  and  of  the  kingdom  of  Aragon,  to  which  it  was 
annexed  in  the  twelfth  century,  the  palace  contains  many 
deeply  interesting  manuscripts  found  in  the  suppressed 
monasteries. 

The  archives  have  been  ingeniously  arranged  by  the 
learned  keeper  of  records.  The  bookcases,  which  are 
not  more  than  six  feet  high,  stand  on  either  side  of  the 
vast  library,  at  some  distance  from  the  wall,  made  stair- 
case-wise; one  set  of  volumes  just  above  the  other,  with 
the  result  that  no  accumulation  of  dust  is  possible,  and 
that  each  set  is  equally  accessible.  The  effect  on  the 
eye  of  these  symmetrically-placed  volumes  in  white  vel- 
lum is  very  novel  and  pleasing.  We  seem  to  be  in  a 


68  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

hall,  the  walls  of  which  are  of  fluted  cream-colored 
marble. 

The  little  museum  of  local  antiquities  in  the  ruined 
Church  of  Santa  Agneda,  the  somber  old  churches  of  San 
Pablo  del  Campo,  Santa  Maria  del  Mar  and  Belen,  the 
fragments  of  mediaeval  domestic  architecture  remaining 
here  and  there — all  these  will  detain  the  archaeologist.  Of 
more  general  interest  are  the  modern  monuments  of 
Barcelona.  In  no  city  have  civic  lavishness  and  public 
spirit  shone  forth  more  conspicuously. 

A  penny  tramway — you  may  go  anywhere  here  for  a 
penny — takes  you  to  the  beautiful  Park  and  Fountain 
of  Neptune.  The  word  "  fountain  "  gives  an  inadequate 
notion  of  the  splendid  pile,  with  its  vast  triple-storied 
marble  galleries,  its  sculptured  Naiads  and  dolphins,  and 
on  the  summit,  towering  above  park  and  lake  and  cas- 
cades, its  three  gigantic  sea-horses  and  charioteers  richly 
gilt,  gleaming  as  if  indeed  of  massive  gold.  Is  there 
any  more  sumptuous  fountain  in  the  world?  I  doubt 
it.  In  spite  of  the  gilded  sea-horses  and  chariot,  there  is 
no  tawdriness  here;  all  is  bold,  splendid,  and  imposing. 
Below  the  vast  terraced  galleries  and  wide  staircases,  all 
of  pure  marble,  flows  in  a  broad  sheet  the  crystal-clear 
water,  home  of  myriads  of  gold  fish.  The  entourage  is 
worthy  of  so  superb  a  construction.  The  fountain  stands 
in  the  midst  of  a  scrupulously-kept,  tastefully  laid-out, 
ever-verdant  park  or  public  pleasure-ground.  In  No- 
vember all  is  fresh  and  blooming  as  in  an  English  June. 
Palms,  magnolias,  bananas,  oleanders,  camellias,  the 
pepper-tree,  make  up  a  rich,  many-tinted  foliage. 
Flowers  in  winter-time  are  supplanted  by  beds  of  bril- 
liant leaved  plants  that  do  duty  for  blossoms.  The  pur- 
ple, crimson,  and  sea-green  leaves  are  arranged  with 


COLUMBUS  MONUMENT  69 

great  effect,  and  have  a  brilliant  appearance.  Here  sur- 
rounded by  gold  green  turf,  are  little  lakes  which  may 
be  sailed  across  in  tiny  pleasure  skiffs.  At  the  chief 
entrance,  conspicuously  placed,  stands  the  fine  equestrian 
monument  to  Prim,  inaugurated  with  much  civil  and  mili- 
tary pomp  some  years  ago.  It  is  a  bold  statue  in  red 
bronze.  The  general  sits  his  horse,  hat  in  hand,  his  fine, 
soldier-like  face  turned  towards  the  city.  On  the  sides  of 
the  pedestal  are  bas-reliefs  recording  episodes  of  his  ca- 
reer, and  on  the  front  these  words  only,  "  Barcelona  a 
Prim."  The  work  is  that  of  a  Spanish  artist,  and  the 
monument  as  a  whole  reflects  great  credit  alike  to  local 
art  and  public  spirit. 

But  a  few  minutes'  drive  brings  us  within  sight  of  a 
monument  to  one  of  the  world's  heroes.  I  allude  to  the 
memorial  column  recently  raised  to  Columbus  by  this 
same  public-spirited  and  munificent  city  of  Barcelona. 
Columbus,  be  it  remembered,  was  received  here  by  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella  after  his  discovery  of  America  in  1493. 
Far  and  wide  over  hills  and  city,  palm-girt  harbor,  and 
sea,  as  a  lighthouse  towers  the  tremendous  obelisk,  the 
figure  of  the  great  Genoese  surmounting  it,  his  feet 
placed  on  a  golden  sphere,  his  outstretched  arm  pointing 
triumphantly  in  the  direction  of  his  newly-discovered 
continent  as  much  as  to  say,  "  It  is  there !  " 

Never  did  undertaking  reflect  more  credit  upon  a  city 
than  this  stupendous  work.  The  entire  height  of  the 
monument  is  about  two-thirds  of  the  height  of  the  Monu- 
ment of  London.  The  execution  was  entrusted  to  Barce- 
lonese  craftsmen  and  artists;  the  materials — bronze, 
stone,  and  marble — all  being  supplied  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

On  the  upper  tier  of  the  pedestal  are  statues  of  the 


70  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

four  noble  Catalans  who  materially  aided  Columbus  in 
his  expedition — by  name  Fray  Boyl,  monk  of  Montserrat, 
Pedro  Margarit,  Jaime  Ferrer,  and  Luis  Sentangel.  Be- 
low are  allegorical  figures  representing,  in  the  form  of 
stately  matrons,  the  four  kingdoms  of  Catalonia,  Castille, 
Aragon,  and  Leon.  Bas-reliefs,  illustrating  scenes  in  the 
career  of  the  discoverer,  adorn  the  hexagonal  sides,  six 
magnificent  winged  lions  of  greystone  keep  jealous  watch 
over  the  whole,  and  below  these,  softening  the  aspect  of 
severity,  is  a  belt  of  turf,  the  following  inscription  being 
perpetually  written  in  flowers :  "  Barcelona  a  Colon." 
The  column  is  surmounted  by  a  globe  burnished  with 
gold,  and  above  rises  the  colossal  figure  of  Columbus. 

No  happier  site  could  have  been  selected.  The  monu- 
ment faces  the  sea,  and  is  approached  from  the  town 
by  a  palm-bordered  walk  and  public  garden.  The  first 
object  to  greet  the  mariner's  eye  as  he  sights  land  is  the 
figure  of  Columbus  poised  on  his  glittering  ball;  the 
last  to  fade  from  view  is  that  beacon-like  column  tower- 
ing so  proudly  above  city  and  shore.  A  little  excursion 
must  be  made  by  boat  or  steamer,  in  order  to  realize  the 
striking  effect  of  this  monument  from  the  sea. 

To  obtain  a  bird's-eye  view  of  Barcelona  itself,  the 
stranger  should  go  some  distance  inland.  The  Fort  of 
Montjuich,  commanding  the  town  from  the  south,  or 
Mont  Tibidaho  to  the  north,  will  equally  answer  his  pur- 
pose. A  pretty  winding  path  leads  from  the  shore  to  a 
pleasure-garden  just  below  the  fort,  and  here  we  see 
the  entire  city  spread  as  in  a  map  at  our  feet.  The  pano- 
rama is  somewhat  monotonous,  the  vast  congeries  of 
white  walls  and  grey  roofs  only  broken  by  gloomy  old 
church  towers  and  tall  factory  chimneys,  but  thus  is 
realized  for  the  first  time  the  enormous  extent  of  the 


THE  NEW  CEMETERY  71 

Spanish  Liverpool  and  Manchester  in  one.  Thus,  indeed, 
may  Barcelona  be  styled.  Looking  seaward,  the  picture  is 
animated  and  engaging — the  wide  harbor  bristling  with 
shipping,  lateen-sailed  fishing  boats  skimming  the  deep- 
blue  sunny  waves,  noble  vessels  just  discernible  on  the 
dim  horizon. 

The  once  celebrated  promenade  of  the  Murallo  del 
Mar,  eulogized  by  Ford  and  other  writers,  no  longer 
exists,  but  the  stranger  will  keep  the  sea-line  in  search 
of  the  new  cemetery.  A  very  bad  road  leads  thither,  on 
All  Saints'  and  All  Souls'  days  followed  by  an  unbroken 
string  of  vehicles,  omnibuses,  covered  carts,  hackney  car- 
riages, and  private  broughams;  their  occupants,  for  the 
most  part,  dressed  in  black.  The  women,  wearing  black 
Cashmere  mantillas,  are  hardly  visible,  being  hidden  by 
enormous  wreaths,  crosses,  and  bouquets  of  natural  and 
also  of  artificial  flowers.  The  new  cemetery  is  well 
placed,  being  several  miles  from  the  city,  on  high  ground 
between  the  open  country  and  the  sea.  It  is  tastefully 
laid  out  in  terraces — the  trees  and  shrubs  testifying  to  the 
care  bestowed  on  them.  Here  are  many  costly  monu- 
ments— mausoleums,  we  should  rather  say — of  opulent 
Barcelonese,  each  family  possessing  its  tiny  chapel  and 
burial-place. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  so  progressive  a  city  as  Bar- 
celona will  ere  long  adopt  the  system  of  cremation.  Noth- 
ing can  be  less  hygienic,  one  would  think,  than  the  pres- 
ent mode  of  burial  in  Spain.  To  die  there  is  literally^  j 
not  figuratively — to  be  laid  on  the  shelf.  The  terrace- 
like  sides  of  the  cemetery  ground  have  been  hollowed 
out  into  pigeon-holes,  and  into  these  are  thrust  the  coffins, 
the  marble  slab  closing  the  aperture  bearing  a  memorial 
inscription.  Ivy  and  other  creepers  are  trained  around 


72  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  various  divisions,  and  wreaths  of  fresh  flowers  and 
immortelles  adorn  them;  the  whole  presenting  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  huge  chest  of  drawers  divided  into  mathe- 
matically exact  segments.  To  us  there  is  something  un- 
canny— nay,  revolting — in  such  a  form  of  burial;  which, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  cannot  be  warranted  on  aesthetic, 
much  less  scientific,  principles.  It  is  satisfactory  to  find 
that  at  last  Protestants  and  Jews  have  their  own  burial- 
place  here,  shut  off  from  the  rest,  it  is  true  by  a  wall 
at  least  twenty  feet  high,  but  a  resting-place  for  all  that. 
It  was  not  so  very  long  ago  that  Malaga  was  the  only 
Spanish  town  according  Protestants  this  privilege,  the 
concession  being  wrung  from  the  authorities  by  the  late 
much-esteemed  British  consul,  Mr.  Mark. 

For  some  days  preceding  the  festival  of  All  Saints  the 
cemetery  presents  a  busy  scene.  Charwomen,  garden- 
ers, masons,  and  painters  then  take  possession  of  the 
place.  Marble  is  scoured,  lettering  is  repainted,  shrubs 
clipped,  turf  cut — all  is  made  spick  and  span,  in  time  for 
the  great  festival  of  the  dead.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  All  Saints'  Day  in  Spain  has  no  analogy  with  the 
same  date  in  our  own  calendar.  Brilliant  sunshine,  air 
soft  and  balmy  as  of  July,  characterize  the  month  of  No- 
vember here.  These  visits  to  the  cemetery  are,  there- 
fore, less  depressing  than  they  would  be  performed  amid 
English  fog  and  drizzle.  We  Northerners,  moreover, 
cannot  cast  off  gloomy  thoughts  and  sad  retrospection 
as  easily  as  the  more  elastic,  more  joyous  Southern  tem- 
perament. Mass  over,  the  pilgrimage  to  the  cemetery 
paid,  all  is  relaxation  and  gaiety.  All  Saints'  and  All 
Souls'  days  are  indeed  periods  of  unmitigated  enjoyment 
and  relaxation.  Public  offices,  museums,  schools,  shops, 


RELIGIOUS  HOLIDAYS  73 

are  closed.  Holiday  folk  pour  in  from  the  country.  The 
city  is  as  animated  as  Paris  on  the  I4th  of  July. 

In  the  forenoon  it  is  difficult  to  elbow  one's  way 
through  the  crowded  thoroughfares.  Every  street  is 
thronged,  men  flocking  to  mass  as  zealously  as  devotees 
of  the  other  sex.  In  these  early  hours  most  of  the  ladies 
wear  black;  their  mourning  garb  later  in  the  day  to  be 
exchanged  for  fashionable  toilettes  of  all  colors.  The 
children  are  decked  out  gaily,  as  for  a  fancy  fair.  Serv- 
ice is  being  held  in  every  church,  and  from  all  parts  may 
be  heard  the  sonorous  Cathedral  bells.  Its  vast,  somber 
interior,  now  blazing  with  wax-lights,  is  a  sight  to  re- 
member. Crowds  in  rapt  devotion  are  kneeling  on  the 
bare  stones,  the  ladies  heedless  of  their  silks;  here  and 
there  the  men  kneeling  on  a  glove  or  pocket-handker- 
chief, in  order  to  protect  their  Sunday  pantaloons.  Rows 
of  poor  men — beggars,  it  would  seem,  tidied  up  for  the 
occasion — sit  in  rows  along  the  aisle,  holding  lighted 
tapers.  The  choir  is  rilled  with  choristers,  men  and  boys 
intoning  the  service  so  skilfully  that  they  almost  seem  to 
sing.  Soon  the  crowds  fall  back,  and  a  procession  passes 
from  choir  to  high  altar — priests  and  dignitaries  in  their 
gorgeous  robes,  some  of  black,  embroidered  with  crosses 
in  gold,  others  of  white  and  purple  or  yellow,  the  bishop 
coming  last,  his  long  violet  train  borne  by  a  priest;  all 
the  time  the  well-trained  voices  of  the  choristers — sweet 
treble  of  the  boys,  tenor,  and  base — making  up  for  lack 
of  music.  At  last  the  long  ceremony  comes  to  an  end,  and 
the  vast  congregation  pours  out  to  enjoy  the  balmy  air, 
the  warm  sunshine,  visits,  confectionery,  and  other  dis- 
tractions. 

Such  religious  holidays  should  not  be  missed  by  the 


74  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

traveller,  since  they  still  stamp  Spain  as  the  most  Catholic 
country  in  the  world.  Even  in  bustling,  cosmopolitan, 
progressive  Barcelona  people  seem  to  spend  half  their 
time  in  church. 

In  the  capital  of  Catalonia,  twentieth-century  civiliza- 
tion and  the  mediaeval  spirit  may  still  be  called  next-door 
neighbors.  The  airy  boulevards  and  handsome  villas  of 
suburban  Algiers  are  not  more  strikingly  contrasted  with 
the  ancient  Moorish  streets  than  the  new  quarters  of 
Barcelona  with  the  old.  The  Rambla,  its  electric  lights, 
its  glittering  shops,  cafes,  clubs,  and  theaters,  recalls  a 
Parisian  boulevard.  In  many  of  the  tortuous,  malodorous 
streets  of  the  old  town  there  is  hardly  room  for  a  wheel- 
barrow to  be  drawn  along;  no  sunbeam  has  ever  pene- 
trated the  gloom. 

Let  us  take  a  penny  tramway  from  the  Rambla  to  the 
gloomy,  grandiose  old  church  of  Santa  Maria  del  Mar. 
Between  the  city  and  the  sea  rises  the  majestic  monu- 
ment to  Columbus,  conspicuous  as  a  lighthouse  alike  from 
land  and  sea.  We  follow  a  broad  palm-bordered  alley  and 
pleasure  garden  beyond  which  are  seen  the  noble  harbor 
bristling  with  masts  and  the  soft  blue  Mediterranean. 
Under  the  palms  lounge  idle  crowds  listening  to  a  band, 
shading  themselves  as  best  they  can  from  the  burning 
sun  of  November!  What  a  change  when  we  leave  the 
tramway  and  the  airy,  handsome  precincts  of  the  park, 
and  plunge  into  the  dark,  narrow  street  behind  the  Lonja 
Palace.  The  somber  picture  is  not  without  relief. 
Round  about  the  ancient  fagade  of  the  church  are  cloth- 
shops,  the  gay  wares  hanging  from  each  story,  as  if  the 
shopmen  made  a  display  of  all  their  wares.  Here  were 
reds,  yellows,  greens  of  brightest  hue,  some  of  these 
woolen  blankets,  shawls,  and  garments  of  every  de- 


SANTA  MARIA  DEL  MAR  75 

scription  being  gay  to  crudeness;  grass  green,  scarlet, 
orange,  sky-blue,  dazzled  the  eye,  but  the  general 
effect  was  picturesque  and  cheerful.  The  dingy 
little  square  looked  ready  for  a  festival.  In  reality, 
a  funeral  service  was  taking  place  in  the  church.  If 
Spanish  interiors  are  always  dark  and  depressing,  what 
must  they  be  when  draped  with  black?  No  sooner  does 
the  door  swing  behind  us  here  than  daylight  is  shut  out 
completely  as  on  entering  a  mine;  we  are  obliged  to 
grope  our  way  by  the  feeble  rays  of  light  penetrating  the 
old  stained  glass  of  the  clerestory.  The  lovely  lancets 
of  the  aisles  are  hidden  by  huge  black  banners,  the  vast 
building  being  only  lighted  by  a  blaze  of  wax  tapers  here 
and  there.  Sweet  soft  chanting  of  boys'  voices,  with  a  de- 
licious organ  accompaniment,  was  going  on  when  I  en- 
tered, soon  to  be  exchanged  for  the  unutterably  monoto- 
nous and  lugubrious  intoning  of  black-robed  choristers. 
They  formed  a  procession  and,  chanting  as  they  went, 
marched  to  a  side  altar  before  which  a  priest  was  per- 
forming mass.  The  Host  elevated,  all  marched  back 
again,  the  dreary  intoning  now  beginning  afresh.  It  is 
impossible  to  convey  any  adequate  notion  of  the  dreari- 
ness of  the  service.  If  the  Spaniards  understand  how  to 
enjoy  to  the  uttermost  what  Browning  calls  "  the  wild 
joy  of  living,"  they  also  know  how  to  clothe  death  with 
all  the  terrors  of  mediaeval  superstition.  It  takes  one's 
breath  away,  too,  to  calculate  the  cost  of  a  funeral  here, 
what  with  the  priests  accomplished  in  the  mystic  dance— 
so  does  a  Spanish  writer  designate  the  performance — 
the  no  less  elaborate  services  of  the  choristers,  the  light- 
ing up  of  the  church,  the  display  of  funeral  drapery.  The 
expense,  fortunately,  can  only  be  incurred  once.  These 
ancient  churches — all  somberness  and  gloom,  yet  on  fete 


76  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

days  ablaze  with  light  and  colors — symbolize  the  leading 
characteristics  of  Spanish  character.  No  sooner  does  the 
devotee  rise  from  his  knees  than  the  Southern  passion  for 
joy  and  animation  asserts  itself.  Religious  exercise  and 
revel,  penitence  and  enjoyment,  alternate  one  with  the 
other;  the  more  devout  the  first,  all  the  more  eagerly 
indulged  in  the  last. 

On  the  Sunday  morning  following  the  Festival  of  All 
Saints — the  4th  of  November — the  splendid  old  cathedral 
was  the  scene  of  a  veritable  pageant.  Wax  lights  illumi- 
nated the  vast  interior  from  end  to  end,  the  brocades  and 
satins  of  priestly  robes  blazed  with  gold  embroidery,  the 
rich  adornments  and  treasure  of  altar  and  chapels  could 
be  seen  in  full  splendor.  Before  the  grand  music  of  the 
organ  and  the  elevation,  a  long,  very  long,  sermon  had  to 
be  listened  to,  the  enormous  congregation  for  the  most 
part  standing;  scattered  groups  here  and  there  squatted 
on  the  stone  piers,  not  a  chair  to  be  had  anywhere,  no  one 
seeming  to  find  the  discourse  too  long.  When  at  last  the 
preacher  did  conclude,  the  white-robed  choristers,  men 
and  boys,  passed  out  of  the  choir,  and  formed  a  double 
line.  Then  the  bishop  in  solemn  state  descended  from  the 
high  altar.  He  wore  a  crimson  gown  with  long  train 
borne  by  a  priest,  and  on  his  head  a  violet  cap,  with  pea- 
green  tuft.  The  dresses  of  the  attendant  clergy  were  no 
less  gorgeous  and  rich  in  texture,  some  of  crimson  with 
heavy  gold  trimmings,  others  of  mauve,  guinea-gold, 
peach  color,  or  creamy  white,  several  wearing  fur  caps. 
The  procession  made  the  round  of  the  choir,  then  returned 
to  the  starting-point.  As  I  sat  behind  the  high  altar  on 
one  of  the  high-backed  wooden  benches  destined  for  the 
aged  poor,  two  tiny  chorister  boys  came  up,  both  in 
white  surplices,  one  with  a  pink,  the  other  with  sky-blue 


GRACIA  77 

collar.  Here  they  chatted  and  laughed  with  their  hands 
on  the  bell-rope,  ready  to  signal  the  elevation.  On  a 
sudden  the  tittering  ceased,  the  childish  hands  tugged  ai 
the  rope,  the  tinkling  of  the  bell  was  heard,  and  the  mul- 
titude, as  one  man,  fell  on  its  knees,  the  organ  meantime 
being  played  divinely.  Service  over,  the  crowds  emerged 
into  the  dazzling  sunshine :  pleasure  parties,  steamboat 
trips,  visits,  theaters,  bull-fights  occupied  the  rest  of  the 
day,  the  Rambla  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  mas- 
querade. 

An  excursion  northwards  of  the  city  is  necessary,  in 
order  to  see  its  charming,  fast-increasing  suburbs.   Many, 
as  is  the  case  with  those  of  Paris,  Passy,  Auteuil,  Belle-'- 
ville,  and  others,  were  formerly  little  towns,  but  are  fast 
becoming  part  of  Barcelona  itself. 

Most  musically  named  is  Gracia,  approached  by  rail  or 
tramway,  where  rich  citizens  have  their  orange  and 
lemon  gardens,  their  chateaux  and  villas,  and  where  re- 
ligious houses  abound.  In  this  delightful  suburban  re- 
treat alone  no  less  than  six  nunneries  may  be  counted; 
somber  prison-like  buildings,  with  tiny  barred  windows, 
indicating  the  abode  of  cloistered  nuns  of  ascetic  orders. 
That  of  the  Order  of  St.  Domingo  has  been  recently 
founded.  The  house  looks  precisely  like  a  prison.  Here 
also  are  several  congregations  of  the  other  sex — the 
Missionaries  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  the  Fathers  of  San 
Filipe,  and  others. 

Gracia  may  be  called  the  Hampstead  of  Barcelona. 
Hardly  a  house  but  possesses  its  garden.  Above  the 
high  walls  trail  gorgeous  creepers  and  datura,  whilst 
through  the  iron  gates  we  obtain  glimpses  of  dahlias  in 
full  splendor,  roses  red  and  white,  and  above  these  the 
glossy-leaved  orange  and  lemon  trees  with  their  ripening 


78  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

fruit.  The  pleasantest  suburb  of  Barcelona  is  well 
worthy  of  its  name.  As  Sarria  is  approached,  the  scenery 
becomes  more  rural,  and  under  the  brilliant  November 
sunshine  reminds  the  traveller  of  the  East,  the  square, 
white,  low-roofed  houses  rising  amid  olive  and  palm 
trees.  The  aloes  and  prickly  pears  on  the  waste  ground 
again  and  again  recall  Algeria.  Here  are  vast  stretches 
of  vegetable  gardens  and  vineyards  supplying  the  city 
markets,  and  standing  in  their  own  grounds  on  sunny 
hill-sides,  the  quintas  or  country  houses  of  rich  citizens 
and  grandees. 

From  the  little  town  of  Sarria — hardly  as  yet  to  be 
called  suburban — a  glorious  view  is  obtained  of  city, 
port,  and  sea.  The  narrow  dusty  streets,  with  their  close- 
shuttered  houses,  have  a  sleepy  look;  yet  Sarria  pos- 
sesses one  of  the  largest  cotton-mills  in  Spain,  several 
thousand  hands  being  employed  by  one  firm.  The  branch 
railway  ends  at  Sarria.  Here  tourists  and  holiday-mak- 
ers alight;  the  hardy  pedestrian  to  reach  the  summit  of 
Mont  Tibidaho  on  foot — a  matter  of  two  hours  or  so — 
the  less  enterprising,  to  accept  one  of  the  covered  cars 
awaiting  excursionists  outside  the  station.  Mont  Tibi- 
daho is  the  favorite  holiday  ground  of  the  citizens.  Even 
in  November  numerous  pleasure  parties  are  sure  to  be 
found  here,  and  the  large  restaurants  indicate  the  extent 
of  summer  patronage.  On  the  breezy  heights  round 
about  are  the  sumptuous  mansions  of  nobles  and  mer- 
chant princes;  whilst  down  below  are  numerous  pic- 
turesque valleys,  notably  that  of  San  Cugat.  The 
stranger  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  admission  will  find 
himself  in  the  kind  of  fairyland  described  by  Tennyson 
in  his  "  Haroun-al-Raschid,"  Owen  Meredith  in  "  The 
Siege  of  Constantinople,"  or  Gayangos  in  his  delightful 


BARCELONETA  79 

translation  of  the  "  Chronicles  of  Al-Makkari."  Marble 
courts,  crystal  fountains,  magnificent  baths,  mosaic  pave- 
ments, statuary,  tapestries,  aviaries,  rare  exotics,  gold  and 
silver  plate,  are  now  combined  with  all  modern  appliances 
of  comfort.  A  sojourn  in  one  of  the  well-appointed  hotels 
will  suffice  to  give  some  notion  of  Spanish  society.  Dur- 
ing the  holidays  many  families  from  the  city  take  up 
their  quarters  here.  Social  gatherings,  picnics,  excur- 
sions, concerts,  are  the  order  of  the  day,  and  good  mili- 
tary bands  enliven  the  gardens  on  Sundays. 

To  the  south-east  of  Barcelona  lies  the  suburb  of  Bar- 
celoneta,  frequented  by  the  seafaring  population.  Penny 
boats  ply  between  city  and  suburb,  on  Sundays  and 
holidays  the  music  of  a  barrel-organ  being  thrown  into 
the  bargain.  The  harbor  is  then  black  with  spectators, 
and  the  boats  and  little  steamers,  making  the  cruise  of  the 
port  for  half  a  franc,  are  crowded  with  holiday-makers. 
The  bright  silk  head-dresses  of  the  women,  the  men's 
crimson  or  scarlet  sombreros  and  plaids,  the  uniforms  of 
the  soldiers,  the  gay  dresses  of  the  ladies,  make  up  a 
picturesque  scene.  On  board  the  boats  the  music  of  the 
barrel-organ  must  on  no  account  be  paid  for.  A  well- 
intentioned  stranger  who  should  offer  the  musician  a 
penny  is  given  to  understand  that  the  treat  is  gratuitous 
and  generously  supplied  by  the  owners  of  the  craft. 
Greed  being  almost  universal  in  those  parts  of  the  world  , 
frequented  by  tourists,  it  is  gratifying  to  be  able  to 
chronicle  such  exceptions.  Seldom,  indeed,  has  the  sight- 
seer at  Barcelona  to  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

If  inferior  to  other  Spanish  cities  in  picturesqueness 
and  interest  generally,  the  capital  of  Catalonia  atones  for 
the  deficit  by  its  abundance  of  resources.  It  possesses 
nothing  to  be  called  a  picture-gallery;  the  museums  are 


8o  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

second-rate,  the  collections  of  antiquities  inconsiderable. 
But  what  other  city  in  Spain  can  boast  of  so  many 
learned  bodies  and  diverse  centers  of  intellectual  activity  ? 
Excessive  devotion  and  scientific  inquiry  do  not  here 
seem  at  variance.  Strange  to  say,  a  population  that 
seems  perpetually  on  its  knees  is  the  first  to  welcome 
modern  ideas. 

The  Academy  of  Arts  was  founded  in  1751,  and  owes 
its  origin  to  the  Junta,  or  Tribunal  of  Commerce  of  Cata- 
lonia. This  art  school  is  splendidly  lodged  in  the  Lonja 
Palace,  and  attached  to  it  is  a  museum,  containing  a  few 
curious  specimens  of  old  Spanish  masters,  some  rather 
poor  copies  of  the  Italian  schools,  and  one  real  artistic 
treasure  of  the  first  water.  This  is  a  collection  of  studies 
in  black  and  white  by  the  gifted  Fortuny,  whose  first 
training  was  received  here.  The  sketches  are  masterly, 
and  atone  for  the  insignificance  of  the  remaining  collec- 
tion. Students  of  both  sexes  are  admitted  to  the  classes, 
the  course  of  study  embracing  painting  in  all  its  branches, 
modeling,  etching,  linear  drawing  and  perspective,  anat- 
omy and  aesthetics.  It  is  gratifying  to  find  that  girls 
attend  these  classes,  although  as  yet  in  small  numbers. 

The  movement  in  favor  of  the  higher  education  of 
women  marches  at  a  snail's  pace  in  Spain.  The  vast 
number  of  convents  and  what  are  called  "  Escuelas 
Pias,"  or  religious  schools,  attest  the  fact  that  even  in 
the  most  cosmopolitan  and  enlightened  Spanish  town  the 
education  of  girls  still  remains  chiefly  in  the  hands  of  the 
nuns.  Lay  schools  and  colleges  exist,  also  a  normal 
school  for  the  training  of  female  teachers,  founded  a  few 
years  ago.  Here  and  there  we  find  rich  families  en- 
trusting their  girls  to  English  governesses,  but  such  cases 
are  rare. 


ESCUELAS  PIAS  81 

We  must  remember,  however,  that  besides  the  numer- 
ous "  Escuelas  pias  "  and  secular  schools,  several  exist 
opened  under  the  auspices  of  the  Spanish  Evangelical 
body,  and  also  the  League  for  the  Promotion  of  lay 
Teaching.  We  need  not  infer,  then,  that  because  they 
do  not  attend  the  municipal  schools  the  children  go  un- 
taught. 

How  reluctantly  Catholic  countries  are  won  over  to 
educate  their  women  we  have  witnessed  in  France.  Here 
in  the  twentieth  century  the  chief  occupation  of  an  edu- 
cated Spanish  lady  seems  to  be  that  of  counting  her  beads 
in  church. 

Music  is  universally  taught,  the  cultivation  of  the  // 
piano  being  nowhere  more  assiduous.  Pianoforte  teach- 
ers may  be  counted  by  the  hundred;  and  a  Conserva- 
torium,  besides  academies  due  to  private  initiative,  offers 
a  thorough  musical  training  to  the  student.  Elegant 
pianos,  characterized  by  great  delicacy  of  tone  and  low 
price,  are  a  leading  feature  of  Barcelona  manufacture, 
notably  of  the  firm  Bernareggi. 

The  University,  attended  by  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred students,  was  founded  so  long  ago  as  1430,  and 
rebuilt  in  1873. 

A  technical  school — the  only  complete  school  of  arts 
and  sciences  existing  in  Spain — was  opened  under  the 
same  roof  in  1850;  and,  in  connection  with  it,  night 
classes  are  held.  Any  workman  provided  with  a  cer- 
tificate of  good  conduct  can  attend  these  classes  free  of 
cost.  Schools  of  architecture  and  navigation  are  also 
attached  to  the  University. 

Thirst  after  knowledge  characterizes  all  classes  of  the 
community.  A  workman's  literary  club,  or  Athenaeum, 
founded  a  few  years  back,  is  now  a  flourishing  institution, 


82  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

aided  by  municipal  funds.  No  kind  of  recreation  is  al- 
lowed within  its  walls.  Night-schools  opened  here  are 
attended  by  several  hundred  scholars.  Barcelona  also 
boasts  of  an  Academy  of  Belles  Lettres,  the  first  founded 
in  Spain;  schools  of  natural  science,  chemistry,  agricul- 
ture, of  medicine  and  surgery,  of  jurisprudence,  an  acad- 
emy devoted  to  the  culture  of  the  Catalonian  language, 
and  containing  library  and  museum.  This  society  has 
greatly  contributed  to  the  protection  of  ancient  buildings 
throughout  the  province,  besides  amassing  valuable  treas- 
ure, legend,  botanical  and  geological  specimens  and 
antiquities.  The  Archaeological  Society  of  Barcelona  has 
also  effected  good  work :  to  its  initiative  the  city  is  mainly 
indebted  for  the  charming  little  collection  of  antiquities 
known  as  the  "  Museo  Provincial,"  before  alluded  to. 

In  places  of  public  entertainment  Barcelona  is  unusu- 
ally rich.  Its  Opera  House,  holding  four  thousand  spec- 
tators, equals  in  spaciousness  the  celebrated  house  of 
Moscow.  The  unpretentious  exterior  gives  no  idea  of  the 
splendor  within.  A  dozen  theaters  may  be  counted  be- 
sides. Bull-fights,  alas!  still  disgrace  the  most  advanced 
city  of  the  Peninsula.  The  bull-ring  was  founded  in 
1834,  and  the  brutal  spectacle  -still  attracts  enormous 
crowds,  chiefly  consisting  of  natives.  The  bull-fight  is 
almost  unanimously  repudiated  by  foreign  residents  of 
all  ranks. 

A  few  words  must  now  be  said  about  the  history  of 
this  ancient  place.  The  city  founded  here  by  Hamilcar 
Barco,  father  of  the  great  Hannibal,  is  supposed  to  stand 
on  the  site  of  one  more  ancient  still,  existing  long  before 
the  foundation  of  Rome.  The  Carthaginian  city  in  206  B.  c. 
became  a  Roman  colonia,  under  the  title  of  "  Faventia 
Julia  Augusta  Pia  Barzino,"  which  was  eclipsed  in  im- 


ANCIENT  HISTORY  83 

portance,  however,  by  Tarragona,  the  Roman  capital. 
In  409  A.  D.  it  was  taken  by  the  Goths,  and  under  their 
domination  increased  in  size  and  influence,  coining  its 
own  money  stamped  with  the  legend  "  Barcinona."  On 
the  destruction  of  Tarragona  by  the  Moors  Barcelona 
capitulated,  was  treated  with  clemency,  and  again,  be- 
came a  metropolis.  After  many  vicissitudes  it  was  ruled 
in  the  ninth  century  by  a  Christian  chief  of  its  own, 
whose  descendants  till  the  twelfth  governed  it  under  the 
title  of  Counts  of  Barcelona,  later  assuming  that  of  Kings 
of  Aragon,  to  which  kingdom  the  province  was  annexed. 
During  the  Middle  Ages  Barcelona  played  a  foremost 
part  in  the  history  of  commerce.  In  the  words  of  Ford, 
"  Like  Carthage  of  old,  it  was  the  lord  and  terror  of  the 
Mediterranean.  It  divided  with  Italy  the  enriching  com- 
merce of  the  East.  It  was  then  a  city  of  commerce,  con- 
quest, and  courtiers,  of  taste,  learning,  and  luxury — the 
Athens  of  the  troubadour." 

Its  celebrated  commercial  code,  framed  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  obtained  acceptance  throughout  Europe. 
Here  one  of  the  first  printing-presses  in  Spain  was  set 
up,  and  here  Columbus  was  received  by  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  after  his  discovery  of  a  new  world.  A  hundred 
years  later  a  ship  was  launched  from  the  port,  made  to 
move  by  means  of  steam.  The  story  of  Barcelona  is 
henceforth  but  a  catalogue  of  tyrannies  and  treacheries, 
against  which  the  brave,  albeit  turbulent,  city  struggled 
single-handed.  In  1711  it  was  bombarded  and  partly 
ruined  by  Philip  V. ;  a  -few  years  later,  after  a  magnani- 
mous defense,  it  was  stormed  by  Berwick,  on  behalf  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  given  up  to  pillage,  outrage,  fire,  and 
sword.  Napoleon's  fraudulent  seizure  of  Barcelona  is 
one  of  the  most  shameful  pages  of  his  shameful  history. 


84  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

The  first  city — the  key  of  Spain,  as  he  called  it — only 
to  be  taken  in  fair  war  by  eighty  thousand  men,  was 
basely  entrapped,  and  remained  in  the  hands  of  the 
French  till  the  Treaty  of  Paris  in  1814.  From  that  time 
Barcelona  has  only  enjoyed  fitful  intervals  of  repose.  In 
1827  a  popular  rising  took  place  in  favor  of  Don  Carlos. 
In  1834  Queen  Christina  was  opposed,  and  in  1840  public 
opinion  declared  for  Espartero.  In  1856  and  1874  insur- 
rections occurred,  not  without  bloodshed. 

Barcelona  is  a  great  gathering-place  of  merchants  from 
all  parts  of  Europe.  In  its  handsome  hotels  is  heard  a  very 
Babel  of  tongues.  The  principal  manufactures  consist  of 
woolen  stuffs — said  to  be  inferior  to  English  in  quality — 
silk,  lace,  firearms,  hats,  hardware,  pianos;  the  last,  as 
has  been  already  stated,  of  excellent  quality,  and  low  in 
price.  Porcelain,  crystal,  furniture,  and  inlaid  work, 
must  be  included  in  this  list,  also  ironwork  and  stone 
blocks. 

Beautifully  situated  on  the  Mediterranean  between  the 
mouths  of  two  rivers, — the  Llobregat  and  the  Besos— 
and  possessing  one  of  the  finest  climates  in  the  world, 
Barcelona  is  doubtless  destined  ere  long  to  rival  Algiers 
as  a  health  resort.  Three  lines  of  railway  now  connect  it 
directly  with  Paris,  from  which  it  is  separated  by  twenty- 
eight  hours'  journey.  The  traveller  may  leave  Barcelona 
at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  reach  Lyons  at  mid- 
night with  only  a  change  of  carriages  on  the  frontier. 
The  route  via  Bordeaux  is  equally  expeditious;  that  by 
way  of  Clermont-Ferrand  less  so,,  but  more  picturesque. 
Hotels  in  the  capital  of  Catalonia  leave  nothing  to  desire 
on  the  score  of  management,  hygiene,  comfort,  and  prices 
strictly  regulated  by  tariff.  The  only  drawback  to  be 
complained  of  is  the  total  absence  of  the  feminine  ele- 


INSTITUTIONS  85 

ment — not  a  woman  to  be  seen  on  the  premises.  Good 
family  hotels,  provided  with  lady  clerks  and  chamber- 
maids, is  a  decided  desideratum.  The  traveller  wishing 
to  attain  a  knowledge  of  the  Spanish  language,  and  see 
something  of  Spanish  life  and  manners,  may  betake  him- 
self to  one  of  the  numerous  boarding-houses. 

Barcelona  is  very  rich  in  philanthropic  and  charitable 
institutions.  Foremost  of  these  is  its  Hospital  of  Santa 
Cruz,  numbering  six  hundred  beds.  It  is  under  the  con- 
joint management  of  sisters  and  brothers  of  charity  and 
lay  nurses  of  both  sexes.  An  asylum  for  the  insane 
forms  part  of  the  building,  with  annexes  for  the  con- 
valescent. The  Hospital  del  Sagrado  Corazon,  founded 
by  public  subscription  in  1870  for  surgical  cases,  also 
speaks  volumes  for  the  munificence  of  the  citizens.  The 
only  passport  required  of  the  patient  is  poverty.  One  in- 
teresting feature  about  this  hospital  is  that  the  commit- 
tee of  management  consists  of  ladies.  The  nursing  staff 
is  formed  of  French  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  Be- 
sides these  must  be  named  the  orphanage  for  upwards  of 
two  thousand  children  of  both  sexes — Casa  de  Caridad  de 
la  Provincia  de  Barcelona — asylums  for  abandoned  in- 
fants, for  the  orphaned  children  of  seamen,  maternity 
hospitals,  creches,  etc.  There  is  also  a  school  for  the 
blind  and  deaf  mutes,  the  first  of  the  kind  established  in 
Spain.  Here  the  blind  of  both  sexes  receive  a  thorough 
musical  training,  and  deaf  mutes  are  taught  according 
to  the  system  known  as  lip-speech.  All  teaching  is 
gratuitous. 

Barcelona  possesses  thirty-eight  churches,  without 
counting  the  chapels  attached  to  convents,  and  a  vast 
number  of  conventual  houses.  Several  evangelical  serv- 
ices are  held  on  Sundays  both  in  the  city  and  in  the 


86  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

suburb  of  Barceloneta.  The  Protestant  communities  of 
Spain,  England,  France,  Germany,  Sweden,  and  other 
countries,  have  here  their  representative  and  organization. 
Sunday-schools  and  night-schools  for  adults  are  held  in 
connection  with  these  churches.  The  Protestant  body 
seems  active.  We  find  here  a  branch  depot  of  the  Re- 
ligious Tract  Society;  various  religious  magazines,  many 
of  them  translations  from  the  English  and  German,  are 
published.  Among  these  are  the  "  Revista  Christiana,'' 
intended  for  the  more  thoughtful  class  of  readers ;  "  La 
Luz,"  organ  of  the  Reformed  Church  of  Spain;  and 
several  illustrated  periodicals  for  children.  Will  Protes- 
tantism ever  take  deep  root  in  the  home  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion? Time  will  show. 

That  very  advanced  political  opinions  should  be  held 
here  need  hardly  surprise  us.  We  find  the  following 
Democratic  clubs  in  existence:  The  Historic  Republi- 
can Club  ("  Centre  Republicano  Historico"),  the  Possi- 
bilist  Republican  Club  ("  Circulo  Republicano  Possibil- 
ista"),  the  Democratic  Progressist  Club,  the  Federal 
Republican  Club,  and  many  others.  When  next  a  great 
popular  movement  takes  place  in  Spain — and  already  the 
event  looms  in  the  distance — without  doubt  the  first  im- 
pulse will  be  given  at  Barcelona. 

Electric  lighting  was  early  introduced  here,  a  company 
being  founded  so  long  back  as  1880,  and  having  branches 
in  the  capital,  Seville,  Valencia,  Bilbao,  and  other  towns. 
The  importance  of  Barcelona  as  a  center  of  commerce  is 
attested  by  the  extraordinary  number  of  banks.  At 
every  turn  the  stranger  comes  upon  a  bank.  "  Compared 
to  the  mighty  hives  of  English  industry  and  skill,  here 
everything  is  petty,"  wrote  Ford,  fifty  years  ago.  Very 


RELIGIOUS  FETE  DAYS  87 

different  would  be  his  verdict  could  he  revisit  the  Man- 
chester and  Liverpool  of  Catalonia  in  our  own  day. 

One  curious  feature  of  social  life  in  Spain  is  the  ex- 
traordinary number  of  religious  fete  days  and  public  holi- 
days. No  Bank  Holiday  Act  is  needed,  as  in  the  neigh- 
boring country  of  France.  Here  is  a  list  of  days  during 
which  business  is  for  the  most  part  suspended  in  this 
recreation-loving  city :  Twelfth-cake  Day  is  the  great 
festival  of  the  little  ones — carnival  is  kept  up,  if  with  less 
of  former  splendor,  nevertheless  with  much  spirit ;  on 
Ash  Wednesday  rich  and  poor  betake  themselves  to  the 
country ;  Holy  Thursday  and  Good  Friday  are  celebrated 
with  great  pomp  in  the  churches;  on  Easter  Eve  takes 
place  a  procession  of  shepherds  in  the  park ;  Easter  Mon- 
day is  a  day  given  up  to  rural  festivity;  the  iQth  of  March 
St.  Jose's  Day — is  a  universal  fete,  hardly  a  family  in 
Spain  without  a  Jose  among  its  number.  The  first  Sun- 
day in  May  is  a  feast  of  flowers  and  poetic  competitions ; 
the  days  consecrated  to  St.  Juan  and  St.  Pedro  are  pub- 
lic holidays,  patronized  by  enormous  numbers  of  country- 
folks; All  Saints'  and  All  Souls'  Days  are  given  up,  as 
we  have  seen,  to  alternate  devotion  and  festivity.  On 
the  2Oth  of  December  is  celebrated  the  Feast  of  the  Na- 
tivity, the  fair  and  the  displays  of  the  shops  attracting 
strangers  from  all  parts.  But  it  is  especially  the  days 
sacred  to  the  Virgin  that  are  celebrated  by  all  classes. 
Balls,  banquets,  processions,  miracle-plays,  illuminations, 
bull-fights,  horse-races,  scholastic  fetes,  industrial  ex- 
hibitions, civic  ceremonial,  besides  solemn  services,  occupy 
old  and  young,  rich  and  poor.  Feasting  is  the  order  of 
the  day,  and  the  confectioners'  windows  are  wonderful  to 
behold. 


88  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Although  many  local  customs  are  dying  out,  we  may 
still  see  some  of  the  curious  street  sights  described  by 
Ford  fifty  years  ago,  and  the  Mariolatry  he  deplored  is 
still  as  active  as  ever.  The  goodly  show  of  dainties  in 
the  shops,  however,  belie  his  somewhat  acrimonious  de- 
scription of  a  Spanish  reception.  "  Those  who  receive," 
he  wrote,  "  provide  very  little  refreshment  unless  they 
wish  to  be  covered  with  glory;  space,  light,  and  a  little 
bad  music,  are  sufficient  to  amuse  these  merry,  easily- 
pleased  souls,  and  satisfy  their  frugal  bodies.  To  those 
who,  by  hospitality  and  entertainment,  can  only  under- 
stand eating  and  drinking — food  for  man  and  beast— 
such  hungry  proceedings  will  be  more  honored  in  the 
breach  than  in  the  observance;  but  these  matters  depend 
much  on  latitude  and  longitude."  Be  this  as  it  may,  either 
the  climate  of  Barcelona  has  changed,  or  international 
communication  has  revolutionized  Spanish  digestion. 
Thirty  years  ago,  when  travelling  in  Spain,  it  was  no  un- 
usual sight  to  see  a  spare,  aristocratic  hidalgo  enter  a 
restaurant,  and,  with  much  form  and  ceremony,  break- 
fast off  a  tiny  omelette.  Nowadays  we  find  plenty  of 
Spanish  guests  at  public  ordinaries  doing  ample  justice 
to  a  plentiful  board.  English  visitors  in  a  Spanish  house 
will  not  only  get  good  music,  in  addition  to  space  and 
light,  but  abundant  hospitality  of  material  sort. 

The  Spain  of  which  Ford  wrote  so  humorously,  and,  it 
must  be  admitted,  often  so  maliciously,  is  undergoing 
slow,  but  sure,  transformation.  Many  national  charac- 
teristics remain — the  passion  for  the  brutal  bull-fight  still 
disgraces  a  polished  people,  the  women  still  spend  the 
greater  portion  of  their  lives  in  church,  religious  intol- 
erance at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century  must  be 
laid  to  the  charge  of  a  slowly  progressive  nation.  On  the 


CABALLERO  89 

other  hand,  and  nowhere  is  the  fact  more  patent  than  at 
Barcelona,  the  great  intellectual  and  social  revolution,  de- 
scribed by  contemporary  Spanish  novelists,  is  bringing 
the  peninsula  in  closer  sympathy  with  her  neighbors. 
Many  young  Spaniards,  for  instance,  are  now  educated 
in  England,  English  is  freely  spoken  at  Malaga,  and  its 
literature  is  '  no  longer  unknown  to  Spanish  readers. 
These  facts  indicate  coming  change.  The  exclusiveness 
which  has  hitherto  barred  the  progress  of  this  richly- 
dowed  and  attractive  country  is  on  the  wane.  Who 
shall  say?  We  may  ere  long  see  dark-eyed  students 
from  Barcelona  at  Girton  College,  and  a  Spanish  society 
for  the  protection  of  animals  prohibiting  the  torture  of 
bulls  and  horses  for  the  public  pleasure. 

Already — all  honor  to  her  name — a  Spanish  woman 
novelist,  the  gifted  Caballero,  has  made  pathetic  appeals 
to  her  country-folks  for  a  gentler  treatment  of  animals  in 
general.  For  the  most  part,  it  must  be  sadly  confessed, 
in  vain ! 

In  spite  of  its  foremost  position,  in  intellectual  and 
commercial  pre-eminence,  Barcelona  has  produced  no 
famous  men.  Her  noblest  monument  is  raised  to  an 
alien ;  Lopez,  a  munificent  citizen,  honored  by  a  statue, 
was  born  at  Santander.  Prim,  although  a  Catalan,  did 
not  first  see  the  light  in  the  capital.  By  some  strange 
concatenation  of  events,  this  noble  city  owes  her  fame 
rather  to  the  collective  genius  and  spirit  of  her  children 
than  to  any  one.  A  magnanimous  stepmother,  she  has 
adopted  those  identified  with  her  splendor  to  whom  she 
did  not  herself  give  birth. 

Balzac  wittily  remarks  that  the  dinner  is  the  barometer 
of  the  family  purse  in  Paris.  One  perceives  whether 
Parisians  are  flourishing  or  no  by  a  glance  at  the  daily 


90  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

board.  Clothes  afford  a  nice  indication  of  temperature 
all  the  world  over.  We  have  only  to  notice  what  people 
wear,  and  we  can  construct  a  weather-chart  for  our- 
selves. Although  the  late  autumn  was,  on  the  whole,  fa- 
vorable, I  left  fires,  furs,  and  overcoats  in  Paris.  At 
Lyons,  a  city  afflicted  with  a  climate  the  proper  epithet 
of  which  is  "  muggy,"  ladies  had  not  yet  discarded  their 
summer  clothes,  and  were  only  just  beginning  to  re- 
furbish felt  hats  and  fur-lined  pelisses. 

At  Montpellier  the  weather  was  April-like — mild, 
blowy,  showery;  waterproofs,  goloshes,  and  umbrellas 
were  the  or.der  of  the  day.  On  reaching  Barcelona  I 
found  a  blazing  sun,  windows  thrown  wide  open,  and 
everybody  wearing  the  lightest  garments.  Such  facts  do 
duty  for  a  thermometer. 

Boasting,  as  it  does  of  one  of  the  finest  climates  in  the 
world,  natural  position  of  rare  beauty,  a  genial,  cosmo- 
politan, and  strikingly  handsome  population,  and  lastly, 
accessibility,  Barcelona  should  undoubtedly  be  a  health 
resort  hardly  second  to  Algiers.  Why  it  is  not,  I  will 
undertake  to  explain. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  something  that  invalids  and 
valetudinarians  require  more  imperatively  than  a  perfect 
climate.  They  cannot  do  without  the  ministrations  of 
women.  To  the  suffering,  the  depressed,  the  nervous, 
feminine  influence  is  ofttimes  of  more  soothing— nay, 
healing — power  than  any  medical  prescription. 

Let  none  take  the  flattering  unction  to  their  souls — 
as  well  look  for  a  woman  in  a  Bashaw's  army,  or  on  a 
man-of-war,  as  in  the  palatial,  well-appointed,  otherwise 
irreproachable  hotels  of  Barcelona !  They  boast  of  marble 
floors,  baths  that  would  not  have  dissatisfied  a  Roman 
epicure,  salons  luxurious  as  those  of  a  West-end  club, 


HOTELS     i  91 

newspapers  in  a  score  of  languages,  a  phalanx  of  gentle- 
manly waiters,  a  varied  ordinary,  delicious  wines,  but 
not  a  daughter  of  Eve,  old  or  young,  handsome  or  ugly— 
if,  indeed,  there  exists  an  ugly  woman  in  Barcelona — 
to  be  caught  sight  of  anywhere !  No  charming  landlady, 
as  in  French  hotels,  taking  friendliest  interest  in  her 
guests,  no  housemaids,  willing  and  nimble  as  the  Marys 
and  Janes  we  have  left  at  home,  not  even  a  rough,  kindly, 
garrulous  charwoman  scrubbing  the  floors.  The  fashion- 
able hotel  here  is  a  vast  barrack  conducted  on  strictly 
impersonal  principles.  Visitors  obtain  their  money's 
worth,  and  pay  their  bills.  There  the  transaction  between 
innkeeper  and  traveller  ends. 

Good  family  hotels  or  "  pensions,"  in  which  invalids 
would  find  a  home-like  element,  are  sadly  needed  in  this 
engaging,  highly-favored  city.  The  next  desideratum 
is  a  fast  train  from  Port  Bou — the  first  Spanish  town  on 
the  frontier.  An  express  on  the  Spanish  line  would 
shorten  the  journey  to  Lyons  by  several  hours.  New  car- 
riages are  needed  as  much  as  new  iron  roads.  Many 
an  English  third-class  is  cleaner  and  more  comfortable 
than  the  so-called  "  first "  here.  It  must  be  added  that 
the  officials  are  all  politeness  and  attention,  and  that  be- 
yond slowness  and  shabbiness  the  traveller  has  nothing  to 
complain  of.  Exquisite  urbanity  is  still  a  characteristic 
of  the  Barcelonese  as  it  was  in  the  age  of  Cervantes. 
One  exception  will  be  mentioned  farther  on. 

If  there  are  no  women  within  the  hotel  walls — except, 
of  course,  stray  lady  tourists — heaven  be  praised,  there 
are  enough,  and  to  spare,  of  most  bewitching  kind  with- 
out. Piquancy  is,  perhaps,  the  foremost  charm  of  a 
Spanish  beauty,  whether  a  high-born  senora  in  her 
brougham,  or  a  flower-girl  at  her  stall.  One  and  all 


92  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

seem  born  to  turn  the  heads  of  the  other  sex,  after  the 
fashion  of  Carmen  in  Merimee's  story.  Nor  is  outward 
attraction  confined  to  women.  The  city  police,  cab- 
drivers,  tramway-conductors,  all  possess  what  Schopen- 
hauer calls  the  best  possible  letter  of  introduction,  namely, 
good  looks. 

The  number  of  the  police  surprise  us.  These  bustling, 
brilliant  streets,  with  their  cosmopolitan  crowds,  seem  the 
quietest,  most  orderly  in  the  world.  It  seems  hard  to 
believe  that  this  tranquillity  and  contentment  should  be 
fallacious — on  the  surface  only.  Yet  such  is  the  case, 
as  shown  by  the  recent  outbreak  of  rioting  and  bloodshed. 

"  I  have  seen  revolution  after  revolution,"  said  to  me 
a  Spanish  gentleman  of  high  position,  an  hidalgo  of  the 
old  school ;  "  I  expect  to  see  more  if  my  life  is  sufficiently 
prolonged.  Spain  has  no  government;  each  in  power 
seeks  but  self-aggrandizement.  Our  army  is  full  of  Bou- 
langers,  each  ready  "to  usurp  power  for  his  own  ends. 
You  suggest  a  change  of  dynasty?  We  could  not  hope 
to  be  thereby  the  gainers.  A  Republic,  say  you?  That 
also  has  proved  a  failure  with  us.  Ah,  you  English 
are  happy;  you  do  not  need  to  change  abruptly  the  ex- 
isting order  of  things,  you  effect  revolutions  more  calmly." 

I  observed  that  perhaps  national  character  and  tempera- 
ment had  something  to  do  with  the  matter.  He  replied 
very  sadly,  "  You  are  right ;  we  Southerners  are  more 
impetuous,  of  fiercer  temper.  Whichever  way  I  look,  I 
see  no  hope  for  unhappy.  Spain." 

Such  somber  reflections  are  difficult  to  realize  by  the 
passing  traveller.  Yet,  when  we  consider  the  tremen- 
dous force  of  such  a  city  as  Barcelona,  its  progressive 
tendencies,  its  spirit  of  scientific  inquiry,  we  can  but 
admit  that  an  Ultramontane  regency  and  reactionary 


THE  POSTE  RESTANTE  93 

government  must  be  out  of  harmony  with  the  tendencies 
of  modern  Spain. 

There  is  only  one  occupation  which  seems  to  have  a 
deteriorating  effect  upon  the  Spanish  temper.  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  post-office,  at  any  rate,  makes  a  Catalan 
rasping  as  an  east  wind,  acrimonious  as  a  sloe-berry.  I 
had  been  advised  to  provide  myself  with  a  passport 
before  revisiting  Spain,  but  I  refused  to  do  so  on  prin- 
ciple. 

What  business  have  we  with  this  relic  of  barbarism 
at  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth  century,  in  times  of 
peace  among  a  friendly  people?  The  taking  a  passport 
under  such  circumstances  seemed  to  me  as  much  of  an 
anachronism  as  the  wearing  of  a  scapular,  or  seeking  the 
royal  touch  for  scrofula.  By  pure  accident,  a  registered 
letter  containing  bank  notes  was  addressed  to  me  at  the 
Poste  Restante.  Never  was  such  a  storm  in  a  teacup, 
such  groaning  of  the  mountain  before  the  creeping  forth 
of  a  tiny  mouse!  The  delivery  of  registered  letters  in 
Spain  is  accompanied  with  as  much  form  as  a  marriage 
contract  in  France.  Let  future  travellers  in  expectation 
of  such  documents  provide  themselves,  not  only  with  a 
passport,  but  a  copy  of  their  baptismal  register,  of  the 
marriage  certificate  of  their  parents,  the  family  Bible- 
no  matter  its  size — and  any  other  proofs  of  identity  they 
can  lay  hands  upon.  They  will  find  none  superfluous. 


V 

MARSEILLES 

Its  Greek  founders  and  early  history — Superb  view  from  the  sea — 
The  Cannebiere — The  Parado  and  Chemin  de  la  Corniche — 
Chateau  d'lf  and  Monte-Cristo — Influence  of  the  Greeks  in 
Marseilles — Ravages  by  plague  and  pestilence — Treasures  of 
the  Palais  des  Arts — The  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde 
— The  new  Marseilles  and  its  future. 

ABOUT  six  hundred  years  before  the  birth  of 
Christ,  when  the  Mediterranean,  ringed  round 
with  a  long  series  of  commercial  colonies,  was 
first  beginning  to  transform  itself  with  marvelous  rapid- 
ity into  "a  Greek  lake,"  a  body  of  adventurous  Hellenic 
mariners — young  Columbuses  of  their  day — full  of  life 
and  vigor,  sailed  forth  from  Phocsea  in  Asia  Minor,  and 
steered  their  course,  by  devious  routes,  to  what  was  then 
the  Far  West,  in  search  of  a  fitting  and  unoccupied 
place  in  which  to  found  a  new  trading  city.  Hard 
pressed  by  the  Persians  on  their  native  shore,  these  free 
young  Greeks — the  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  modern  Mar- 
seilles— left  behind  for  ever  the  city  of  their  birth,  and 
struck  for  liberty  in  some  distant  land,  where  no  Cyrus 
or  Xerxes  could  ever  molest  them.  Sailing  away  past 
Greece  and  Sicily,  and  round  Messina  into  the  almost 
unknown  Tyrrhenian  Sea,  the  adventurous  voyagers  ar- 
rived at  last,  after  various  false  starts  in  Corsica  and 
elsewhere,  at  some  gaunt  white  hills  of  the  Gaulish  coast, 

94 


THE  OLD  PORT  95 

and  cast  anchor  finally  in  a  small  but  almost  land-locked 
harbor,  under  the  shelter  of  some  barren  limestone  moun- 
tains. Whether  they  found  a  Phoenician  colony  already 
established  on  the  spot  or  not,  matters  as  little  to  history 
nowadays  as  whether  their  leaders'  names  were  really 
Simos  and  Protis  or  quite  otherwise.  What  does  matter 
is  the  indubitable  fact  that  Massalia,  as  its  Greek  founders 
called  it,  preserved  through  all  its  early  history  the  im- 
press of  a  truly  Hellenic  city;  and  that  even  to  this 
moment  much  good  Greek  blood  flows,  without  question, 
in  the  hot  veins  of  all  its  genuine  native-born  citizens. 

The  city  thus  founded  has  had  a  long,  a  glorious,  and 
an  eventful  history.  Marseilles  is  to-day  the  capital  of 
the  Mediterranean,  the  true  commercial  metropolis  of  that 
inland  sea  which  now  once  more  has  become  a  single 
organic  whole,  after  its  long  division  by  the  Mohamme- 
dan conquest  of  North  Africa  and  the  Levant  into  two 
distinct  and  hostile  portions.  Naples,  it  is  true,  has  a 
larger  population ;  but  then,  a  population  of  Neapolitan 
lazzaroni,  mere  human  drones  lounging  about  their  hive 
and  basking  in  the  sunlight,  does  not  count  for  much, 
except  for  the  macaroni  trade.  What  Venice  once  was, 
that  Marseilles  is  to-day;  the  chief  gate  of  .Mediterranean 
traffic,  the  main  mart  of  merchants  who  go  down  in 
ships  on  the  inland  sea.  In  the  Cannebiere  and  the  Old 
Port,  she  possesses,  indeed,  as  Edmond  About  once 
graphically  phrased  it,  "  an  open  door  upon  the  Mediter- 
ranean and  the  whole  world."  The  steamers  and  sailing 
vessels  that  line  her  quays  bind  together  the  entire 
Mediterranean  coast  into  a  single  organic  commercial 
whole.  Here  is  the  packet  for  Barcelona  and  Malaga; 
there,  the  one  for  Naples,  Malta,  and  Constantinople.  By 
this  huge  liner,  sunning  herself  at  La  Joliette,  we  can  go 


96  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  Athens  and  Alexandria;  by  that,  to  Algiers,  Cagliari, 
and  Tunis.  Nay,  the  Suez  Canal  has  extended  her 
bounds  beyond  the  inland  sea  to  the  Indian  Ocean ;  and 
the  Pillars  of  Hercules  no  longer  restrain  her  from  free 
use  of  the  great  Atlantic  water-way.  You  may  take  ship, 
if  you  will,  from  the  Quai  de  la  Fraternite  for  Bombay 
or  Yokohama,  for  Rio  or  Buenos  Ayres,  for  Santa  Cruz, 
TenerifTe,  Singapore,  or  Melbourne.  And  this  wide  ex- 
tension of  her  commercial  importance  Marseilles  owes, 
mainly  no  doubt,  to  her  exceptional  advantages  of  nat- 
ural position,  but  largely  also,  I  venture  to  think,  to  the 
Hellenic  enterprise  of  her  acute  and  vigorous  Graeco- 
Gaulish  population. 

And  what  a  marvelous  history  has  she  not  behind  her ! 
First  of  all,  no  doubt,  a  small  fishing  and  trading  station 
of  prehistoric  Gaulish  or  Ligurian  villagers  occupied  the 
site  where  now  the  magnificent  fagade  of  the  Bourse 
commemorates  the  names  of  Massalia's  greatest  Phocaean 
navigators.  Then  the  Phoenicians  supervened  upon  the 
changeful  scene,  and  built  those  antique  columns  and 
forgotten  shrines  whose  scanty  remains  were  recently  un- 
earthed in  the  excavations  for  making  the  Rue  de  la 
Republique.  Next  came  the  early  Phocsean  colonists, 
reinforced  a  little  later  by  the  whole  strength  of  their  un- 
conquerable townsmen,  who  sailed  away  in  a  body,  ac- 
cording to  the  well-known  legend  preserved  in  Herodotus, 
when  they  could  no  longer  hold  out  against  the  besieging 
Persian.  The  Greek  town  became  as  it  were  a  sort  of 
early  Calcutta  for  the  Gaulish  trade,  with  its  own  outlying 
colonies  at  Nice,  Antibes,  and  Hyeres,  and  its  inland 
"  factories  "  (to  use  the  old  familiar  Anglo-Indian  word) 
at  Tarascon,  Avignon,  and  many  other  ancient  towns  of 
the  Rhone  valley.  Her  admirals  sailed  on  every  known 


MASS'ALIA  97 

sea :  Euthymenes  explored  the  coasts  of  Africa  as  far  as 
Senegal;  Pytheas  followed  the  European  shore  past 
Britain  and  Ireland  to  the  north  of  the  Shetlands.  Till 
the  Roman  arrived  upon  the  Gaulish  coast  with  his 
dreaded  short-sword,  Massalia,  in  short,  remained  undis- 
puted queen  of  all  the  western  Mediterranean  waters. 

Before  the  wolf  of  the  Capitol,  however,  all  stars 
paled.  Yet  even  under  the  Roman  Empire  Massilia  (as 
the  new  conquerors  called  the  name,  with  a  mere  change 
of  vowel)  retained  her  Greek  speech  and  manners,  which 
she  hardly  lost  (if  we  may  believe  stray  hints  in  later 
historians)  till  the  very  eve  of  the  barbarian  invasion. 
With  the  period  of  the  Crusades,  the  city  of  Euthymenes 
became  once  more  great  and  free,  and  hardly  lost  her 
independence  completely  up  to  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. 
tt  was  only  after  the  French  Revolution,  however,  that 
she  began  really  to  supersede  Venice  as  the  true  capital 
of  the  Mediterranean.  The  decline  of  the  Turkish  power, 
the  growth  of  trade  with  Alexandria  and  the  Levant,  the 
final  crushing  of  the  Barbary  pirates,  the  conquest  of  Al- 
geria, and,  last  of  all,  the  opening  of  the  Suez  Canal— 
a  French  work — all  helped  to  increase  her  commerce  and 
population  by  gigantic  strides  in  half  a  dozen  decades. 
At  the  present  day  Marseilles  is  the  chief  maritime  town 
of  France,  and  the  acknowledged  center  of  Mediterra- 
nean travel  and  traffic. 

The  right  way  for  the  stranger  to  enter  Marseilles  is, 
therefore,  by  sea,  the  old-established  high  road  of  her  an- 
tique commerce.  The  Old  Port  and  the  Cannebiere  are 
her  front  door,  while  the  railway  from  Paris  leads  you  in 
at  best,  as  it  were,  through  shabby  corridors,  by  a  side 
entry.  Seen  from  the  sea,  indeed,  Marseilles  is  superb.  I 
hardly  know  whether  the  whole  Mediterranean  has  any 


98  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

finer  approach  to  a  great  town  to  display  before  the  eyes 
of  the  artistic  traveller.  All  round  the  city  rises  a  semi- 
circle of  arid  white  hills,  barren  and  bare  indeed  to  look 
upon;  but  lighted  up  by  the  blue  Provencal  sky  with  a 
wonderful  flood  of  borrowed  radiance,  bringing  out  every 
jutting  peak  and  crag  through  the  clear  dry  air  in  distinct 
perspective.  Their  sides  are  dotted  with  small  square 
white  houses,  the  famous  bastides  or  country  boxes  of  the 
good  Marseillais  bourgeois.  In  front,  a  group  of  sunlit 
rocky  isles  juts  out  from  the  bay,  on  one  of  which  tower 
the  picturesque  bastions  of  the  Chateau  d'lf,  so  familiar 
to  the  reader  of  "  Monte-Cristo."  The  foreground  is 
occupied  by  the  town  itself,  with  its  forest  of  masts,  and 
the  new  dome  of  its  checkered  and  gaudy  Byzantine  Ca- 
thedral, which  has  quite  supplanted  the  old  cathedral  of 
St.  Lazare,  of  which  only  a  few  traces  remain.  In  the 
middle  distance  the  famous  old  pilgrimage  chapel  of 
Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde  crowns  the  summit  of  a  pyra- 
midal hill,  with  its-  picturesque  mass  of  confused  archi- 
tecture. Away  to  right  and  left,  those  endless  white 
hills  gleam  on  with  almost  wearying  brightness  in  the 
sun  for  miles  together;  but  full  in  front,  where  the  eye 
rests  longest,  the  bustle  and  commotion  of  a  great  trading 
town  teem  with  varied  life  upon  the  quays  and  landing- 
places. 

If  you  are  lucky  enough  to  enter  Marseilles  for  the 
first  time  by  the  Old  Port,  you  find  yourself  at  once  in  the 
very  thick  of  all  that  is  most  characteristic  and  vivid  and 
local  in  the  busy  city.  That  little  oblong  basin,  shut  in  on 
its  outer  side  by  projecting  hills,  was  indeed  the  making 
of  the  great  town.  Of  course  the  Old  Port  is  now  utterly 
insufficient  for  the  modern  wants  of  a  first-class  harbor; 
yet  it  still  survives,  not  only  as  a  historical  relic  but  as  a 


THE  CANNEBIERE  99 

living  reality,  thronged  even  to-day  with  the  crowded 
ships  of  all  nations.  On  the  quay  you  may  see  the  entire 
varied  Mediterranean  world  in  congress  assembled.  Here 
Greeks  from  Athens  and  Levantines  from  Smyrna  jostle 
cheek  by  jowl  with  Italians  from  Genoa  and  Arabs  or 
Moors  from  Tangier  or  Tunis.  All  costumes  and  all 
manners  are  admissible.  The  crowd  is  always  excited, 
and  always  animated.  A  babel  of  tongues  greets  your 
ears  as  you  land,  in  which  the  true  Marseillais  dialect  of 
the  Proven9al  holds  the  chief  place — a  graceful  language, 
wherein  the  predominant  Latin  element  has  not  even  yet 
wholly  got  rid  of  certain  underlying  traces  of  Hellenic 
origin.  Bright  color,  din,  life,  movement:  in  a  moment 
the  traveller  from  a  northern  climate  recognizes  the 
patent  fact  that  he  has  reached  a  new  world — that  vivid, 
impetuous,  eager  southern  world,  which  has  its  center 
to-day  on  the  Provencal  seaboard. 

Go  a  yard  or  two  farther  into  the  crowded  Cannebiere, 
and  the  difference  between  this  and  the  chilly  North 
will  at  each  step  be  forced  even  more  strikingly  upon 
you.  That  famous  thoroughfare  is  firmly  believed  by 
every  good  son  of  old  Marseilles  to  be,  in  the  familiar 
local  phrase,  "  la  plus  belle  rue  de  Tunivers."  My  own 
acquaintance  with  the  precincts  of  the  universe  being 
somewhat  limited  (I  have  never  travelled  myself,  indeed, 
beyond  the  narrow  bounds  of  our  own  solar  system), 
I  should  be  loth  to  endorse  too  literally  and  unreservedly 
this  sweeping  commendation  of  the  Marseillais  mind; 
but  as  regards  our  modest  little  planet  at  least,  I  certainly 
know  no  other  street  within  my  own  experience  (save 
Broadway,  New  York)  that  has  quite  so  much  life  and 
variety  in  it  as  the  Cannebiere.  It  is  not  long,  to  be  sure, 
but  it  is  broad  and  airy,  and  from  morning  till  night  its 


ioo  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

spacious  trottoirs  are  continually  crowded  by  such  a  surg- 
ing throng  of  cosmopolitan  humanity  as  you  will  hardly 
find  elsewhere  on  this  side  of  Alexandria.  For  cosmo- 
politanism is  the  true  key-note  of  Marseilles,  and  the 
Cannebiere  is  a  road  that  leads  in  one  direction  straight 
to  Paris,  but  opens  in  the  other  direction  full  upon  Algiers 
and  Italy,  upon  Egypt  and  India. 

What  a  picture  it  offers,  too,  of  human  life,  that  noisy 
Cannebiere !  By  day  or  by  night  it  is  equally  attractive. 
On  it  centers  all  that  is  alive  in  Marseilles — big  hotels, 
glittering  cafes,  luxurious  shops,  scurrying  drays,  high- 
stepping  carriage-horses,  and  fashionably-dressed  human- 
ity ;  an  endless  crowd,  many  of  them  hatless  and  bonnet- 
less  in  true  southern  fashion,  parade  without  ceasing  its 
ringing  pavements.  At  the  end  of  all,  the  Old  Port  closes 
the  view  with  its  serried  masts,  and  tells  you  the  where- 
fore of  this  mixed  society.  The  Cannebiere,  in  short,  is 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  of  the  Mediterranean,  the  main  thor- 
oughfare of  all  those  teeming  shores  of  oil  and  wine, 
where  culture  still  lingers  by  its  ancient  cradle. 

Close  to  the  Quai,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Canne- 
biere, stands  the  central  point  of  business  in  new  Mar- 
seilles, the  Bourse,  where  the  filial  piety  of  the  modern 
Phooeans  has  done  ample  homage  to  the  sacred  memory 
of  their  ancient  Hellenic  ancestors.  For  in  the  place  of 
honor  on  the  facade  of  that  great  palace  of  commerce  the 
chief  post  has  been  given,  as  was  due,  to  the  statues  of 
the  old  Massaliote  admirals,  Pytheas  and  Euthymenes. 
It  is  this  constant  consciousness  of  historical  continuity 
that  adds  so  much  interest  to  Mediterranean  towns.  One 
feels  as  one  stands  before  those  two  stone  figures  in 
the  crowded  Cannebiere,  that  after  all  humanity  is  one, 


ALLEES  DE  MtlLHAN  ibi 

and  that  the  Phocaeans  themselves  are  still,  in  the  persons 
of  their  sons,  among  us. 

The  Cannebiere  runs  nearly  east  and  west,  and  is  of 
no  great  length,  under  its  own  name  at  least ;  but  under 
the  transparent  alias  of  the  Rue  de  Noailles  it  continues 
on  in  a  straight  line  till  it  widens  out  at  last  into  the 
Allees  de  Meilhan,  the  favorite  haunt  of  all  the  gossips 
and  quidnuncs  of  Marseilles.  The  Allees  de  Meilhan, 
indeed,  form  the  beau  ideal  of  the  formal  and  fashionable 
French  promenade.  Broad  avenues  of  plane  trees  cast  a 
mellow  shade  over  its  well-kept  walks,  and  the  neatest 
of  nurses  in  marvelous  caps  and  long  silk  streamers 
dandle  the  laciest  and  fluffiest  of  babies,  in  exquisite  cos- 
tumes, with  ostentatious  care,  upon  their  bountiful  laps. 
The  stone  seats  on  either  side  buzz  with  the  latest  news 
of  the  town;  the  Zouave  flirts  serenely  with  the  bonnet- 
less  shop-girls;  the  sergeant-de-ville  stalks  proudly  down 
the  midst,  and  barely  deigns  to  notice  such  human  weak- 
nesses. These  Allees  are  the  favorite  haunt  of  all  idle 
Marseilles,  below  the  rank  of  "  carriage  company,"  and 
it  is  probable  that  Satan  finds  as  much  mischief  still  for 
its  hands  to  do  here  as  in  any  other  part  of  that  easy- 
going city. 

At  right  angles  to  the  main  central  artery  thus  con- 
stituted by  the  Cannebiere,  the  Rue  de  Noailles,  and  the 
Allees  de  Meilhan  runs  the  second  chief  stream  of  Mar- 
seillais  life,  down  a  channel  which  begins  as  the  Rue 
d'Aix  and  the  Cours  Belzunce,  and  ends,  after  various 
intermediate  disguises,  as  the  Rue  de  Rome  and  the 
Prado.  Just  where  it  crosses  the  current  of  the  Canne- 
biere, this  polyonymous  street  rejoices  in  the  title  of  the 
Cours  St.  Louis.  Close  by  is  the  place  where  the  flower- 


102  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

women  sit  perched  up  quaintly  in  their  funny  little 
pulpits,  whence  they  hand  down  great  bunches  of  fresh 
dewy  violets  or  pinky-white  rosebuds,  with  persuasive 
eloquence  to  the  obdurate  passer-by.  This  flower-market 
is  one  of  the  sights  of  Marseilles,  and  I  know  no  other 
anywhere — not  even  at  Nice — so  picturesque  or  so  old- 
world.  It  keeps  up  something  of  the  true  Provengal 
flavor,  and  reminds  one  that  here,  in  this  Greek  colony, 
we  are  still  in  the  midst  of  the  land  of  roses  and  of 
Good  King  Rene,  the  land  of  troubadours,  and  gold  and 
flowers,  and  that  it  is  the  land  of  sun  and  summer  sun- 
shine. 

As  the  Rue  de  Rome  emerges  from  the  town  and  gains 
the  suburb,  it  clothes  itself  in  overhanging  shade  of 
plane-trees,  and  becomes  known  forthwith  as  the  Prado 
— that  famous  Prado,  more  sacred  to  the  loves  and  joys 
of  the  Marseillais  than  the  Champs  Elysees  are  to  the 
born  Parisian.  For  the  Prado  is  the  afternoon-drive  of 
Marseilles,  the  Rotten  Row  of  local  equestrianism,  the 
rallying-place  and  lounge  of  all  that  is  fashionable  in  the 
Phocaean  city  as  the  Allees  de  Meilhan  are  of  all  that  is 
bourgeois  or  frankly  popular.  Of  course  the  Prado  does 
not  differ  much  from  all  other  promenades  of  its  sort  in 
France :  the  upper-crust  of  the  world  has  grown  pain- 
fully tame  and  monotonous  everywhere  within  the  last 
twenty-five  years :  all  flavor  and  savor  of  national  costume 
or  national  manners  has  died  out  of  it  in  the  lump, 
and  left  us  only  in  provincial  centers  the  insipid  graces 
of  London  and  Paris,  badly  imitated.  Still,  the  Prado 
is  undoubtedly  lively;  a  broad  avenue  bordered  with 
magnificent  villas  of  the  meretricious  Haussmannesque 
order  of  architecture ;  and  it  possesses  a  certain  great  ad- 
vantage over  every  other  similar  promenade  I  know  of 


CHEMIN  DE  LA  CORNICHE  103 

in  the  world — it  ends  at  last  in  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  picturesque  sea-drives  in  all  Europe. 

This  sea-drive  has  been  christened  by  the  Marseillais, 
with  pardonable  pride,  the  Chemin  de  la  Corniche,  in 
humble  imitation  of  that  other  great  Corniche  road  which 
winds  its  tortuous  way  by  long,  slow  gradients  over  the 
ramping  heights  of  the  Turbia  between  Nice  and  Men- 
tone.  And  a  "  ledge  road  "  it  is  in  good  earnest,  carved 
like  a  shelf  out  of  the  solid  limestone.  When  I  first 
knew  Marseilles  there  was  no  Corniche :  the  Prado,  a 
long  flat  drive  through  a  marshy  plain,  ended  then 
abruptly  on  the  sea-front;  and  the  hardy  pedestrian  who 
wished  to  return  to  town  by  way  of  the  cliffs  had  to 
clamber  along  a  doubtful  and  rocky  pith,  always  difficult, 
often  dangerous,  and  much  obstructed  by  the  attentions 
of  the  prowling  douanier,  ever  ready  to  arrest  him  as  a 
suspected  smuggler.  Nowadays,  however,  all  that  is 
changed.  The  French  engineers — always  famous  for 
their  roads — have  hewn  a  broad  and  handsome  carriage- 
drive  out  of  the  rugged  rock,  here  hanging  on  a  shelf 
sheer  above  the  sea;  there  supported  from  below  by 
heavy  buttresses  of  excellent  masonwork ;  and  have 
given  the  Marseillais  one  of  the  most  exquisite  prome- 
nades to  be  found  anywhere  on  the  seaboard  of  the  Con- 
tinent. It  somewhat  resembles  the  new  highway  from 
Villefranche  to  Monte  Carlo ;  but  the  islands  with  which 
the  sea  is  here  studded  recall  rather  Cannes  or  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Sorrento.  The  seaward  views  are  everywhere 
delicious ;  and  when  sunset  lights  up  the  bare  white  rocks 
with  pink  and  purple,  no  richer  coloring  against  the 
emerald  green  bay,  can  possibly  be  imagined  in  art  or  na- 
ture. It  is  as  good  as  Torquay;  and  how  can  cosmo- 
politan say  better  ? 


104  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

On  the  Corniche,  too,  is  the  proper  place  nowadays  to 
eat  that  famous  old  Marseillais  dish,  immortalized  by 
Thackeray,  and  known  as  bouillabaisse.  The  Reserve  de 
Roubion  in  particular  prides  itself  on  the  manufacture 
of  this  strictly  national  Provengal  dainty,  which  proves, 
however,  a  little  too  rich  and  a  little  too  mixed  in  its 
company  for  the  fastidious  taste  of  most  English  gour- 
mets. Greater  exclusiveness  and  a  more  delicate  eclecti- 
cism in  matters  of  cookery  please  our  countrymen  better 
than  such  catholic  comprehensiveness.  I  once  asked  a 
white-capped  Provencal  chef  what  were  the  precise  in- 
gredients of  his  boasted  bouillabaisse;  and  the  good  man 
opened  his  palms  expansively  before  him  as  he  answered 
with  a  shrug,  "  Que  voulez-vous  ?  Fish  to  start  with ; 
and  then — a  handful  of  anything  that  happens  to  be 
lying  about  loose  in  the  kitchen." 

Near  the  end  of  the  Prado,  at  its  junction  with  the 
Corniche,  modern  Marseilles  rejoices  also  in  its  park  or 
Public  Garden.  Though  laid  out  on  a  flat  and  uninter- 
esting plain,  with  none  of  the  natural  advantages  of  the 
Bois  de  Boulogne  or  of  the  beautiful  Central  Park  at 
New  York,  these  pretty  grounds  are  nevertheless  interest- 
ing to  the  northern  visitor,  who  makes  his  first  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Mediterranean  here,  by  their  curious  and 
novel  southern  vegetation.  The  rich  types  of  the  south 
are  everywhere  apparent.  Clumps  of  bamboo  in  feathery 
clusters  overhang  the  ornamental  waters;  cypresses  and 
araucarias  shade  the  gravel  walks ;  the  eucalyptus  show- 
ers down  its  fluffy  flowers  upon  the  grass  below;  the 
quaint  Salisburia  covers  the  ground  in  autumn  with  its 
pretty  and  curious  maidenhair-shaped  foliage.  Yuccas 
and  cactuses  flourish  vigorously  in  the  open  air,  and  even 
fan -palms  manage  to  thrive  the  year  round  in  cosy  cor- 


.CHATEAU  D'lF  105 

ners.  It  is  an  introduction  to  the  glories  of  Rivieran 
vegetation,  and  a  faint  echo  of  the  magnificent  tones  of 
the  North  African  flora. 

As  we  wind  in  and  out  on  our  way  back  to  Marseilles 
by  the  Corniche  road,  with  the  water  ever  dashing  white 
from  the  blue  against  the  solid  crags,  whose  corners  we 
turn  at  every  tiny  headland,  the  most  conspicuous  object 
in  the  nearer  view  is  the  Chateau  d'lf,  with  the  neighbor- 
ing islets  of  Pomegues  and  Ratonneau.  Who  knows  not 
the  Chateau  d'lf,  by  name  at  least,  has  wasted  his  boy- 
hood. The  castle  is  not  indeed  of  any  great  antiquity — it 
was  built  by  order  of  Francois  I — nor  can  it  lay  much 
claim  to  picturesqueness  of  outline  or  beauty  of  archi- 
tecture; but  in  historical  and  romantic  associations  it  is 
peculiarly  rich,  and  its  situation  is  bold,  interesting,  and 
striking.  It  was  here  that  Mirabeau  was  imprisoned 
under  a  lettre  de  cachet  obtained  by  his  father,  the  friend 
of  man ;  and  it  was  here,  to  pass  from  history  to  romance, 
that  Monte-Cristo  went  through  those  marvelous  and 
somewhat  incredible  adventures  which  will  keep  a  hun- 
dred generations  of  school-boys  in  breathless  suspense 
long  after  Walter  Scott  is  dead  and  forgotten. 

But  though  the  Prado  and  the  Corniche  are  alive  with 
carriages  on  sunny  afternoons,  it  is  on  the  quays  them- 
selves, and  around  the  docks  and  basins,  that  the  true 
vivacious  Marseillais  life  must  be  seen  in  all  its  full  flow 
and  eagerness.  The  quick  southern  temperament,  the 
bronzed  faces,  the  open-air  existence,  the  hurry  and 
bustle  of  a  great  seaport  town,  display  themselves  there 
to  the  best  advantage.  And  the  ports  of  Marseilles  are 
many  and  varied :  their  name  is  legion,  and  their  shipping 
manifold.  As  long  ago  as  1850,  the  old  square  port,  the 
Phocaean  harbor,  was  felt  to  have  become  wholly  insuf- 


io6  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

ficient  for  the  needs  of  modern  commerce  in  Marseilles. 
From  that  day  to  this,  the  accommodation  for  vessels 
has  gone  on  increasing  with  that  incredible  rapidity  which 
marks  the  great  boom  of  modern  times.  Never,  surely, 
since  the  spacious  days  of  great  Elizabeth,  has  the  world 
so  rapidly  widened  its  borders  as  in  these  latter  days  in 
which  we  are  all  living.  The.  Pacific  and  the  Indian 
Ocean  have  joined  the  Atlantic.  In  1853  the  Port  de  la 
Joliette  was  added,  therefore,  to  the  Old  Harbor,  and 
people  thought  Marseilles  had  met  all  the  utmost  demands 
of  its  growing  commerce.  But  the  Bassin  du  Lazaret  and 
the  Bassin  d'Arenc  were  added  shortly  after;  and  then, 
in  1856,  came  the  further  need  for  yet  another  port,  the 
Bassin  National.  In  1872  the  Bassin  de  la  Gare  Maritime 
was  finally  executed ;  and  now  the  Marseillais  are  crying 
out  again  that  the  ships  know  not  where  to  turn  in  the 
harbor.  Everywhere  the  world  seems  to  cosmopolitanize 
itself  and  to  extend  its  limits:  the  day  of  small  things 
has  passed  away  for  ever ;  the  day  of  vast  ports,  huge 
concerns,  gigantic  undertakings  is  full  upon  us. 

Curiously  enough,  however,  in  spite  of  all  this  rapid 
and  immense  development,  it  is  still  to  a  great  extent  the 
Greek  merchants  who  hold  in  their  hands — even  in  our 
own  time — the  entire  commerce  and  wealth  of  the  old 

0 

Phocaean  city.  A  large  Hellenic  colony  of  recent  im- 
portation still  inhabits  and  exploits  Marseilles.  Among 
the  richly-dressed  crowd  of  southern  ladies  that  throngs 
the  Prado  on  a  sunny  afternoon  in  full  season,  no  small 
proportion  of  the  proudest  and  best  equipped  who  loll 
back  in  their  carriages  were  born  at  Athens  or  in  the 
Ionic  Archipelago.  For  even  to  this  day,  these  modern 
Greeks  hang  together  wonderfully  with  old  Greek  per- 
sistence. Their  creed  keeps  them  apart  from  the  Catho- 


GREEK  MARRIAGES  107 

lie  French,  in  whose  midst  they  live,  and  trade,  and 
thrive;  for,  of  course,  they  are  all  members  of  the 
"  Orthodox  "  Church,  and  they  retain  their  orthodoxy  in 
spite  of  the  ocean  of  Latin  Christianity  which  girds  them 
round  with  its  flood  on  every  side.  The  Greek  commun- 
ity, in  fact,  dwells  apart,  marries  apart,  worships  apart, 
and  thinks  apart.  The  way  the  marriages,  in  particular, 
are  most  frequently  managed,  differs  to  a  very  curious 
extent  from  our  notions  of  matrimonial  proprieties.  The 
system — as  duly  explained  to  me  one  day  under  the 
shady  plane-trees  of  the  Alices  de  Meilhan,  in  very  choice 
modern  Greek,  by  a  Hellenic  merchant  of  Marseilles, 
who  himself  had  been  "  arranged  for  "  in  this  very  man- 
ner— is  both  simple  and  mercantile  to  the  highest  degree 
yet  practised  in  any  civilized  country.  It  is  "  marriage 
by  purchase"  pure  and  simple;  only  here,  instead  of  the 
husband  buying  the  wife,  it  is  the  wife  who  practically 
buys  the  husband. 

A  trader  or  ship-owner  of  Marseilles,  let  us  say,  has 
two  sons,  partners  in  his  concern,  who  he  desires  to 
marry.  It  is  important,  however,  that  the  wives  he  se- 
lects for  them  should  not  clash  with  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  Hellenic  community.  Our  merchant,  therefore,  anx- 
ious to  do  the  best  in  both  worlds  at  once,  writes  to  his 
correspondents  of  the  great  Greek  houses  in  Smyrna, 
Constantinople,  Beyrout,  and  Alexandria;  nay,  perhaps 
even  in  London,  Manchester,  New  York,  and  Rio,  stating 
his  desire  to  settle  his  sons  in  life,  and  the  amount  of  dot 
they  would  respectively  require  from  the  ladies  upon 
whom  they  decided  to  bestow  their  name  and  affections. 
The  correspondents  reply  by  return  of  post,  recommend- 
ing to  the  favorable  attention  of  the  happy  swains  cer- 
tain Greek  young  ladies  in  the  town  of  their  adoption, 


io8  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

whose  dot  and  whose  orthodoxy  can  be  equally  guaran- 
teed as  beyond  suspicion.  Photographs  and  lawyers' 
letters  are  promptly  exchanged ;  settlements  are  drawn  up 
to  the  mutual  satisfaction  of  both  the  high  contracting 
parties;  and  when  all  the  business  portion  of  the  trans- 
action has  been  thoroughly  sifted,  the  young  ladies  are 
consigned,  with  the  figs  and  dates,  as  per  bill  of  lading, 
to  the  port  of  entry,  where  their  lords  await  them,  and 
are  duly  married,  on  the  morning  of  their  arrival,  at  the 
Greek  church  in  the  Rue  de  la  Grande  Armee,  by  the 
reverend  archimandrite.  The  Greeks  are  an  eminently 
commercial  people,  and  they  find  this  idyllic  mode  of  con- 
ducting a  courtship  not  only  preserves  the  purity  of  the 
orthodox  faith  and  the  Hellenic  blood,  but  also  saves  an 
immense  amount  of  time  which  might  otherwise  be  wasted 
on  the  composition  of  useless  love-letters. 

It  was  not  so,  however,  in  the  earlier  Greek  days. 
Then,  the  colonists  of  Marseilles  and  its  dependent  towns 
must  have  intermarried  freely  with  the  native  Gaulish  and 
Ligurian  population  of  all  the  tributary  Provencal  sea- 
board. The  true  antique  Hellenic  stock — the  Aryan 
Achseans  of  the  classical  period — were  undoubtedly  a 
fair,  a  light-haired  race,  with  a  far  more  marked  pro- 
portion of  the  blond  type  than  now  survives  among  their 
mixed  and  degenerate  modern  descendants.  In  Greece 
proper,  a  large  intermixture  of  Albanian  and  Sclavonic 
blood,  which  the  old  Athenians  would  have  stigmatized 
as  barbarian  or  Scythian,  has  darkened  the  complexion 
and  blackened  the  hair  of  a  vast  majority  of  the  existing 
population.  But  in  Marseilles,  curiously  enough,  and  in 
the  surrounding  country,  the  genuine  old  light  Greek 
type  has  left  its  mark  to  this  day  upon  the  physique  of 
the  inhabitants.  In  the  ethnographical  map  of  France, 


ANCIENT  TYPES  109 

prepared  by  two  distinguished  French  savants,  the  other 
Mediterranean  departments  are  all,  without  exception, 
marked  as  "  dark  "  or  "  very  dark,"  while  the  depart- 
ment of  the  Bouches  du  Rhone  is  marked  as  "  white," 
having,  in  fact,  as  large  a  proportion  of  fair  complexions, 
blond  hair,  and  light  eyes  as  the  eastern  semi-German 
provinces,  or  as  Normandy  and  Flanders.  This  curious 
survival  of  a  very  ancient  type  in  spite  of  subsequent  del- 
uges, must  be  regarded  as  a  notable  instance  of  the  way 
in  which  the  popular  stratum  everywhere  outlasts  all 
changes  of  conquest  and  dynasty,  of  governing  class  and 
ruling  family. 

Just  think,  indeed,  how  many  changes  and  revolutions 
in  this  respect  that  fiery  Marseilles  has  gone  through  since 
the  early  days  of  her  Hellenic  independence !  First  came 
that  fatal  but  perhaps  indispensable  error  of  inviting  the 
Roman  aid  against  her  Ligurian  enemies,  which  gave  the 
Romans  their  earliest  foothold  in  Southern  Gaul.  Then 
followed  the  foundation  of  Aquae  Sextise  or  Aix,  the  first 
Roman  colony  in  what  was  soon  to  be  the  favorite  prov- 
ince of  the  new  conquerors.  After  that,  in  the  great  civil 
war,  the  Greeks  of  Marseilles  were  unlucky  enough  to 
espouse  the  losing  cause ;  and,  in  the  great  day  of  Caesar's 
triumph,  their  town  was  reduced  accordingly  to  the  in- 
ferior position  of  a  mere  Roman  dependency.  Merged 
for  a  while  in  the  all-absorbing  empire,  Marseilles  fell  at 
last  before  Visigoths  and  Burgundians  in  the  stormy  days 
of  that  vast  upheaval,  during  which  it  is  impossible  for 
even  the  minutest  historian  to  follow  in  detail  the  long 
list  of  endless  conquests  and  re-conquests,  while  the 
wandering  tribes  ebbed  and  flowed  on  one  another  in 
wild  surging  waves  of  refluent  confusion.  Ostrogoth 
and  Frank,  Saracen  and  Christian,  fought  one  after  an- 


no  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

other  for  possession  of  the  mighty  city.  In  the  process 
her  Greek  and  Roman  civilization  was  wholly  swept 
away  and  not  a  trace  now  remains  of  those  glorious 
basilicas,  temples,  and  arches,  which  must  once,  no  doubt, 
have  adorned  the  metropolis  of  Grecian  Gaul  far  more 
abundantly  than  they  still  adorn  mere  provincial  centers 
like  Aries  and  Nimes,  Vienne,  and  Orange.  But  at  the 
end  of  it  all,  when  Marseilles  emerges  once  more  into  the 
light  of  day  as  an  integral  part  of  the  Kingdom  of  Pro- 
vence, it  still  retains  its  essentially  Greek  population, 
fairer  and  handsomer  than  the  surrounding  dark  Ligurian 
stock;  it  still  boasts  its  clear-cut  Greek  beauty  of  profile, 
its  Hellenic  sharpness  of  wit  and  quickness  of  perception. 
And  how  interesting  in  this  relation  to  note,  too,  that 
Marseilles  kept  up,  till  a  comparatively  late  period  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  her  active  connection  with  the  Byzantine 
Empire;  and  that  her  chief  magistrate  was  long  nomi- 
nated— in  name  at  least,  if  not  in  actual  fact — by  the 
shadowy  representative  of  the  Caesars  at  Constantinople. 
May  we  not  attribute  to  this  continuous  persistence  of 
the  Greek  element  in  the  life  of  Marseilles  something 
of  that  curious  local  and  self-satisfied  feeling  which  north- 
ern Frenchmen  so  often  deride  in  the  born  Marseillais? 
With  the  Greeks,  the  sense  of  civic  individuality  and  civic 
separateness  was  always  strong.  Their  Polls  was  to  them 
their  whole  world — the  center  of  everything.  They  were 
Athenians,  Spartans,  Thebans  first;  Greeks  or  even 
Boeotians  and  Lacedaemonians  in  the  second  place  only 
And  the  Marseillais  bourgeois,  following  the  traditions  of 
his  Phocaean  ancestry,  is  still  in  a  certain  sense  the  most 
thoroughly  provincial,  the  most  uncentralized  and  anti- 
Parisian  of  modern  French  citizens.  He  believes  in 
Marseilles  even  more  devoutly  than  the  average  boulevar- 


THE  MARSEILLAIS  1 1 1 

dier  believes  in  Paris.  To  him  the  Cannebiere  is  the 
High  Street  of  the  world,  and  the  Cours  St.  Louis  the 
hub  of  the  universe.  How  pleased  with  himself  and  all 
his  surroundings  he  is,  too !  "  At  Marseilles,  we  do  so- 
and-so,"  is  a  frequent  phrase  which  seems  to  him  to 
settle  off-hand  all  questions  of  etiquette,  of  procedure,  or 
of  the  fitness  of  things  generally.  "  Massilia  locuta  est ; 
causa  finita  est."  That  anything  can  be  done  better  any- 
where than  it  is  done  in  the  Cannebiere  or  the  Old  Port 
is  an  idea  that  never  even  so  much  as  occurs  to  his  smart 
and  quick  but  somewhat  geographically  limited  intelli- 
gence. One  of  the  best  and  cleverest  of  Mars's  clever 
Marseillais  caricatures  exhibits  a  good  bourgeois  from 
the  Cours  Pierre  Puget,  in  his  Sunday  best,  abroad  on 
his  travels  along  the  Genoese  Riviera.  On  the  shore  at 
San  Remo,  the  happy,  easy-going,  conceited  fellow,  brim- 
ming over  to  the  eyes  with  the  happy-go-lucky  Cockney 
joy  of  the  South,  sees  a  couple  of  pretty  Italian  fisher- 
girls  mending  their  nets,  and  addresses  them  gaily  in  his 
own  soft  dialect :  "  He  bien,  mes  pitchounettes,  vous  etes 
tellement  croussetillantes  que,  sans  ezaggerer,  bagasse !  ze 
vous  croyais  de  Marseille !  "  To  take  anyone  elsewhere 
for  a  born  fellow-citizen  was  the  highest  compliment  his 
good  Marseillais  soul  could  possibly  hit  upon. 

Nevertheless,  the  Marseillais  are  not  proud.  They 
generously  allow  the  rest  of  the  world  to  come  and  admire 
them.  They  throw  their  doors  open  to  East  and  West; 
they  invite  Jew  and  Greek  alike  to  flow  in  unchecked, 
and  help  them  make  their  own  fortunes.  They  know 
very  well  that  if  Marseilles,  as  they  all  firmly  believe,  is 
the  finest  town  in  the  round  world,  it  is  the  trade  with  the 
Levant  that  made  and  keeps  it  so.  And  they  take  good 
care  to  lay  themselves  out  for  entertaining  all  and  sundry 


H2  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

as  they  come,  in  the  handsomest  hotels  in  Southern 
Europe.  The  mere  through  passenger  traffic  with  India 
alone  would  serve  to  make  Marseilles  nowadays  a  com- 
mercial town  of  the  first  importance. 

Marseilles,  however,  has  had  to  pay  a  heavy  price, 
more  than  once,  for  her  open  intercourse  with  the  Eastern 
world,  the  native  home  of  cholera  and  all  other  epidemics. 
From  a  very  early  time,  the  city  by  the  Rhone  has  been 
the  favorite  haunt  of  the  Plague  and  like  oriental  visit- 
ants; and  more  than  one  of  its  appalling  epidemics  has 
gained  for  itself  a  memorable  place  in  history.  To  say 
the  truth,  old  Marseilles  laid  itself  out  almost  deliberately 
for  the  righteous  scourge  of  zymotic  disease.  The  vieille 
ville,  that  trackless  labyrinth  of  foul  and  noisome  alleys, 
tortuous,  deeply  worn,  ill-paved,  ill-ventilated,  has  been 
partly  cleared  away  by  the  works  of  the  Rue  de  la  Repub- 
lique  now  driven  through  its  midst ;  but  enough  still  re- 
mains of  its  Daedalean  maze  to  show  the  adventurous 
traveller  who  penetrates  its  dark  and  drainless  dens  how 
dirty  the  strenuous  Provencal  can  be  when  he  bends  his 
mind  to  it.  There  the  true-blooded  Marseillais  of  the 
old  rock  and  of  the  Greek  profile  still  lingers  in  his  native 
insanitary  condition ;  there  the  only  scavenger  is  that 
"  broom  of  Provence,"  the  swooping  mistral — the.  fierce 
Alpine  wind  which,  blowing  fresh  down  with  sweeping 
violence  from  the  frozen  mountains,  alone  can  change  the 
air  and  cleanse  the  gutters  of  that  filthy  and  malodorous 
mediaeval  city.  Everywhere  else  the  mistral  is  a  curse : 
in  Marseilles  it  is  accepted  with  mitigated  gratitude  as  an 
excellent  substitute  for  main  drainage. 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that,  under  such  conditions, 
Marseilles  was  periodically  devastated  by  terrible  epidem- 
ics. Communications  with  Constantinople,  Alexandria, 


MONSEIGNEUR  BELZUNCE  113 

and  the  Levant  were  always  frequent ;  communications 
with  Tunis,  Algiers,  and  Morocco  were  far  from  un- 
common. And  if  the  germs  of  disease  were  imported 
from  without,  they  found  at  Marseilles  an  appropriate 
nest  provided  beforehand  for  their  due'  development. 
Time  after  time  the  city  was  ravaged  by  plague  or  pes- 
tilence; the  most  memorable  occasion  being  the  great 
epidemic  of  1720,  when,  according  to  local  statistics  (too 
high,  undoubtedly),  as  many  as  forty  thousand  persons 
died  in  the  streets,  "  like  lambs  on  the  hill-tops."  Never, 
even  in  the  East  itself,  the  native  home  of  the  plague, 
says  Mery,  the  Marseilles  poet-romancer,  was  so  sad  a 
picture  of  devastation  seen  as  in  the  doomed  streets  of 
that  wealthy  city.  The  pestilence  came,  according  to 
public  belief,  in  a  cargo  of  wool  in  May,  1720:  it  raged 
till,  by  September,  the  tale  of  dead  per  diem  had  reached 
the  appalling  number  of  a  thousand. 

So  awful  a  public  calamity  was  not  without  the  usual 
effect  in  bringing  forth  counterbalancing  examples  of 
distinguished  public  service  and  noble  self-denial.  Chief 
among  them  shines  forth  the  name  of  the  Chevalier 
Rose,  who,  aided  by  a  couple  of  hundred  condemned 
convicts,  carried  forth  to  burial  in  the  ditches  of  La 
Tourette  no  less  than  two  thousand  dead  bodies  which 
infected  the  streets  with  their  deadly  contagion.  There, 
quicklime  was  thrown  over  the  horrible  festering  mass,  in 
a  spot  still  remembered  as  the  "  Graves  of  the  Plague- 
stricken."  But  posterity  has  chosen  most  especially  to 
select  for  the  honors  of  the  occasion  Monseigneur  Bel- 
zunce — "  Marseilles'  good  bishop,"  as  Pope  calls  him, 
who  returned  in  the  hour  of  danger  to  his  stricken  flock 
from  the  salons  of  Versailles,  and  by  offering  the  last 
consolations  of  religion  to  the  sick  and  dying,  aided  some- 


H4  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

what  in  checking  the  orgy  of  despair  and  of  panic- 
stricken  callousness  which  reigned  everywhere  through- 
out the  .doomed  city.  The  picture  is  indeed  a  striking 
and  romantic  one.  On  a  high  altar  raised  in  the  Cours 
which  now  bears  his  name,  the  brave  bishop  celebrated 
Mass  one  day  before  the  eyes  of  all  his  people,  doing  pen- 
ance to  heaven  in  the  name  of  his  flock,  his  feet  bare,  a 
rope  round  his  neck,  and  a  flaming  torch  held  high  in 
his  hand,  for  the  expiation  of  the  sins  that  had  brought 
such  punishment.  His  fervent  intercession,  the  faithful 
believed,  was  at  last  effectual.  In  May,  1721,  the  plague 
disappeared;  but  it  left  Marseilles  almost  depopulated. 
The  bishop's  statue  in  bronze,  by  Ramus,  on  the  Cours 
Belzunce,  now  marks  the  site  of  this  strange  and  unparal- 
leled religious  service. 

From  the  Belzunce  Monument,  the  Rue  Tapis  Vert  and 
the  Allees  des  Capucins  lead  us  direct  by  a  short  cut  to  the 
Boulevard  Longchamp,  which  terminates  after  the  true 
modern  Parisian  fashion,  with  a  vista  of  the  great  foun- 
tains and  the  Palais  des  Arts,  a  bizarre  and  original 
but  not  in  its  way  unpleasing  specimen  of  recent  French 
architecture.  It  is  meretricious,  of  course — that  goes 
without  the  saying :  what  else  can  one  expect  from  the 
France  of  the  Second  Empire  ?  But  it  is  distinctly,  what 
the  children  call  "  grand,"  and  if  once  you  can  put  your- 
self upon  its  peculiar  level,  it  is  not  without  a  certain 
queer  rococo  beauty  of  its  own.  As  for  the  Chateau 
d'Eau,  its  warmest  admirer  could  hardly  deny  that  it  is 
painfully  baroque  in  design  and  execution.  Tigers, 
panthers,  and  lions  decorate  the  approach;  an  allegorical 
figure  representing  the  Durance,  accompanied  by  the 
geniuses  of  the  Vine  and  of  Corn,  holds  the  seat  of  honor 
in  the  midst  of  the  waterspouts.  To  right  and  left  a 


THE  PALAIS  DES  ARTS  115 

triton  blows  his  shelly  trumpet;  griffins  and  fauns  crown 
the  summit;  and  triumphal  arches  flank  the  sides.  A 
marvelous  work  indeed,  of  the  Versailles  type,  better 
fitted  to  the  ideas  of  the  eighteenth  century  than  to  those 
of  the  age  in  which  we  live  at  present. 

The  Palais  des  Arts,  one  wing  of  this  monument,  en- 
closes the  usual  French  provincial  picture-gallery,  with 
the  stereotyped  Rubens,  and  the  regulation  Caraccio.  It 
has  its  Rafrael,  its  Giulio  Romano,  and  its  Andrea  del 
Sarto.  It  even  diverges,  not  without  success,  into  the 
paths  of  Dutch  and  Flemish  painting.  But  it  is  specially 
rich,  of  course,  in  Provengal  works,  and  its  Pugets  in 
particular  are  both  numerous  and  striking.  There  is  a 
good  Murillo  and  a  square-faced  Holbein,  and  many 
yards  of  modern  French  battles  and  nudities,  alternating 
for  the  most  part  from  the  sensuous  to  the  sanguinary. 
But  the  gem  of  the  collection  is  a  most  characteristic  and 
interesting  Perugino,  as  beautiful  as  anything  from  the 
master's  hand  to  be  found  in  the  galleries  of  Florence. 
Altogether,  the  interior  makes  one  forgive  the  facade  and 
the  Chateau  d'Eau.  One  good  Perugino  covers,  like 
charity,  a  multitude  of  sins  of  the  Marseillais  architects. 

Strange  to  say,  old  as  Marseilles  is,  it  contains  to-day 
hardly  any  buildings  of  remote  antiquity.  One  would  be 
tempted  to  suppose  beforehand  that  a  town  with  so 
ancient  and  so  continuous  a  history  would  teem  with 
Graeco-Roman  and  mediaeval  remains.  As  Phocaean 
colony,  imperial  town,  mediaeval  republic,  or  Provencal 
city,  it  has  so  long  been  great,  famous,  and  prosperous 
that  one  might  not  unnaturally  expect  in  its  streets  to 
meet  with  endless  memorials  of  its  early  grandeur.  Noth- 
ing could  be  farther  from  the  actual  fact.  While  Nimes, 
a  mere  second-rate  provincial  municipality,  and  Aries,  a 


ii6  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

local  Roman  capital,  have  preserved  rich  mementoes  of 
the  imperial  days — temples,  arches,  aqueducts,  amphithe- 
aters— Marseilles,  their  mother  city,  so  much  older,  so 
much  richer,  so  much  greater,  so  much  more  famous, 
has  not  a  single  Roman  building ;  scarcely  even  a  second- 
rate  mediaeval  chapel.  Its  ancient  cathedral  has  been 
long  since  pulled  down;  of  its  oldest  church  but  a  spire 
now  remains,  built  into  a  vulgar  modern  pseudo-Gothic 
Calvary.  St.  Victor  alone,  near  the  Fort  St.  Nicolas,  is 
the  one  really  fine  piece  of  mediaeval  architecture  still  left 
in  the  town  after  so  many  ages. 

St.  Victor  itself  remains  to  us  now  as  the  last  relic 
of  a  very  ancient  and  important  monastery,  founded  by 
St.  Cassian  in  the  fifth  century,  and  destroyed  by  the 
Saracens — those  incessant  scourges  of  the  Provengal 
coast — during  one  of  their  frequent  plundering  incur- 
sions. In  1040  it  was  rebuilt,  only  to  be  once  more  razed 
to  the  ground,  till,  in  1350,  Pope  Urban  V.,  who  him- 
self had  been  abbot  of  this  very  monastery  restored  it 
from  the  base,  with  those  high,  square  towers,  which  now, 
in  their  worn  and  battered  solidity,  give  it  rather  the  air 
of  a  castellated  fortress  than  of  a  Christian  temple. 
Doubtless  the  strong-handed  Pope,  warned  by  experience, 
intended  his  church  to  stand  a  siege,  if  necessary,  on  the 
next  visit  to  Marseilles  of  the  Paynim  enemy.  The  in- 
terior, too,  is  not  unworthy  of  notice.  It  contains  the 
catacombs  where,  according  to  the  na'ive  Provencal  faith, 
Lazarus  passed  the  last  days  of  his  second  life ;  and  it 
boasts  an  antique  black  image  of  the  Virgin,  attributed  by 
a  veracious  local  legend  to  the  skilful  fingers  of  St.  Luke 
the  Evangelist.  Modern  criticism  ruthlessly  relegates  the 
work  to  a  nameless  but  considerably  later  Byzantine 
sculptor. 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  LA  GARDE          117 

By  far  the  most  interesting  ecclesiastical  edifice  in 
Marseilles,  however,  even  in  its  present  charred  and  shat- 
tered condition,  is  the  ancient  pilgrimage  chapel  of  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Garde,  the  antique  High  Place  of  primitive 
Phoenician  and  Ligurian  worship.  How  long  a  shrine 
for  some  local  cult  has  existed  on  the  spot  it  would  be 
hard  to  say,  but,  at  least,  we  may  put  it  at  two  dozen 
centuries.  All  along  the  Mediterranean  coast,  in  fact, 
one  feels  oneself  everywhere  thus  closely  in  almost  con- 
tinuous contact  with  the  earliest  religious  beliefs  of  the 
people.  The  paths  that  lead  to  these  very  antique  sacred 
sites,  crowning  the  wind-swept  hills  that  overlook  the 
valley,  are  uniformly  worn  deep  by  naked  footsteps  into 
the  solid  rock — a  living  record  of  countless  generations  of 
fervent  worshipers.  Christianity  itself  is  not  nearly  old 
enough  to  account  for  all  those  profoundly-cut  steps  in 
the  schistose  slate  or  hard  white  limestone  of  the  Pro- 
venc^al  hills.  The  sanctity  of  the  High  Places  is  more 
ancient  by  far  than  Saint  or  Madonna.  Before  ever  a 
Christian  chapel  crested  these  heights  they  were  crested 
by  forgotten  Pagan  temples ;  and  before  the  days  of 
Aphrodite  or  Pallas,  in  turn,  they  were  crested  by  the 
shrines  of  some  long  since  dead-and-buried  Gaulish  or 
Ligurian  goddess.  Religions  change,  creeds  disappear, 
but  sacred  sites  remain  as  holy  as  ever;  and  here  where 
priests  now  chant  their  loud  hymns  before  the  high  altar, 
some  nameless  bloody  rites  took  place,  we  may  be  sure, 
long  ages  since,  before  the  lonely  shrine  of  some  Celtic 
Hesus  or  some  hideous  and  deformed  Phoenician  Moloch. 

It  is  a  steep  climb  even  now  from  the  Old  Port  or  the 
Anse  des  Catalans  to  the  Colline  Notre  Dame;  several 
different  paths  ascend  to  the  summit,  all  alike  of  re- 
mote antiquity,  and  all  ending  at  last  in  fatiguing  steps. 


ii8  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Along  the  main  road,  hemmed  in  on  either  side  by  poor 
southern  hovels,  wondrous  old  witches  of  true  Provencal 
ugliness  drive  a  brisk  trade  in  rosaries,  and  chaplets,  and 
blessed  medals.  These  wares  are  for  the  pilgrim ;  but 
to  suit  all  tastes,  the  same  itinerant  chapwomen  offer  to 
the  more  worldly-minded  tourist  of  the  Cookian  type 
appropriate  gewgaws,  in  the  shape  of  photographs,  im- 
ages, and  cheap  trinkets.  At  the  summit  stand  the  charred 
and  blackened  ruins  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde.  Of 
late  years,  indeed,  that  immemorial  shrine  has  fallen  on 
evil  times  and  evil  days  in  many  matters.  To  begin  with, 
the  needs  of  modern  defence  compelled  the  Government 
some  years  since  to  erect  on  the  height  a  fort,  which 
encloses  in  its  midst  the  ancient  chapel.  Even  military 
necessities,  however,  had  to  yield  in  part  to  the  persistent 
religious  sentiment  of  the  community ;  and  though  forti- 
fications girt  it  round  on  every  side,  the  sacred  site  of 
Our  Lady  remained  unpolluted  in  the  center  of  the  great 
defensive  works  of  the  fortress.  Passing  through  the 
gates  of  those  massive  bastions  a  strongly-guarded  path 
still  guided  the  faithful  sailor-folk  of  Marseilles  to  the 
revered  shrine  of  their  ancestral  Madonna.  Nay,  more; 
the  antique  chapel  of  the  thirteenth  century  was  super- 
seded by  a  goregous  Byzantine  building,  from  designs  by 
Esperandieu,  all  glittering  with  gold,  and  precious  stones, 
and  jewels.  On  the  topmost  belfry  stood  a  gigantic  gilded 
statue  of  Our  Lady.  Dome  and  apse  were  of  cunning 
workmanship — white  Carrara  marble  and  African  rosso 
antico  draped  the  interior  with  parti-colored  splendor. 
Corsican  granite  and  Esterel  porphyry  supported  the 
massive  beams  of  the  transepts;  frescoes  covered  every 
inch  of  the  walls :  the  pavement  was  mosaic,  the  high 
altar  was  inlaid  with  costly  Florentine  stonework.  Every 


PANORAMIC  VIEW  119 

Marseilles  fisherman  rejoiced  in  heart  that  though  the 
men  of  battle  had  usurped  the  sanctuary,  their  Madonna 
was  now  housed  by  the  sons  of  the  Faithful  in  even 
greater  magnificence  and  glory  than  ever. 

But  in  1884  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  shrine  itself,  which 
wrecked  almost  irreparably  the  sumptuous  edifice.  The 
statue  of  the  Virgin  still  crowns  the  fagade,  to  be  sure, 
and  the  chapel  still  shows  up  bravely  from  a  modest  dis- 
tance; but  within,  all  the  glory  has  faded  away,  and  the 
interior  of  the  church  is  no  longer  accessible.  Neverthe- 
less, the  visitor  who  stands  upon  the  platform  in  front  of 
the  doorway  and  gazes  down  upon  the  splendid  pano- 
ramic view  that  stretches  before  him  in  the  vale  beneath, 
will  hardly  complain  of  having  had  his  stiff  pull  uphill 
for  nothing.  Except  the  view  of  Montreal  and  the  St. 
Lawrence  River  from  Mont  Royal  Mountain,  I  hardly 
know  a  town  view  in  the  world  to  equal  that  from  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Garde,  for  beauty  and  variety,  on  a  clear 
spring  morning. 

Close  at  our  feet  lies  the  city  itself,  filling  up  the  whole 
wide  valley  with  its  mass,  and  spreading  out  long  arms  of 
faubourg,  or  roadway,  up  the  lateral  openings.  Beyond 
rise  the  great  white  limestone  hills,  dotted  about  like  mush- 
rooms, with  their  glittering  bastides.  In  front  lies  the 
sea — the  blue  Mediterranean — with  that  treacherous 
smile  which  has  so  often  deceived  us  all  the  day  before  we 
trusted  ourselves  too  rashly,  with  ill-deserved  confidence, 
upon  its  heaving  bosom.  Near  the  shore  the  waves  chafe 
the  islets  and  the  Chateau  d'lf ;  then  come  the  Old  Port 
and  the  busy  bassins ;  and,  beyond  them  all,  the  Chain  of 
Estaques,  rising  grim  and  gray  in  serrated  outline  against 
the  western  horizon.  A  beautiful  prospect  though  barren 
and  treeless,  for  nowhere  in  the  world  are  mountains 


120  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

barer  than  those  great  white  guardians  of  the  Provencal 
seaboard. 

The  fortress  that  overhangs  the  Old  Port  at  our  feet 
itself  deserves  a  few  passing  words  of  polite  notice;  for 
it  is  the  Fort  St.  Nicolas,  the  one  link  in  his  great  de- 
spotic chain  by  which  Louis  Quatorze  bound  recalcitrant 
Marseilles  to  the  throne  of  the  Tuileries.  The  town — like 
all  great  commercial  towns — had  always  clung  hard  to 
its  ancient  liberties.  Ever  rebellious  when  kings  op- 
pressed, it  was  a  stronghold  of  the  Fronde;  and  when 
Louis  at  last  made  his  entry  perforce  into  the  malcontent 
city,  it  was  through  a  breach  he  had  effected  in  the 
heavy  ramparts.  The  king  stood  upon  this  commanding 
spot,  just  above  the  harbor,  and,  gazing  landward,  asked 
the  citizens  round  him  how  men  called  those  little  square 
boxes  which  he  saw  dotted  about  over  the  sunlit  hillsides. 
"  We  call  them  basiides,  sire,"  answered  a  courtly  Mar- 
seillais.  "  Every  citizen  of  our  town  has  one."  "  Moi 
aussi,  je  veux  avoir  ma  bastide  a  Marseille,"  cried  the 
theatrical  monarch,  arfd  straightway  gave  orders  for 
building  the  Fort  St.  Nicolas :  so  runs  the  tale  that  passes 
for  history.  But  as  the  fort  stands  in  the  very  best  pos- 
sible position,  commanding  the  port,  and  could  only  have 
been  arranged  for  after  consultation  with  the  engineers 
of  the  period — it  was  Vauban  who  planned  it — I  fear  we 
must  set  down  Louis's  bon  mot  as  one  of  those  royal 
epigrams  which  has  been  carefully  prepared  and  led  up 
to  beforehand. 

In  every  town,  however,  it  is  a  favorite  theory  of  mine 
that  the  best  of  all  sights  is  the  town  itself:  and  no- 
where on  earth  is  this  truism  truer  than  here  at  Marseilles. 
After  one  has  climbed  Notre  Dame,  and  explored  the 
Prado  and  smiled  at  the  Chateau  d'Eau  and  stood  beneath 


GREEK  INFLUENCE  121 

the  frowning  towers  of  St.  Victor,  one  returns  once  more 
with  real  pleasure  and  interest  to  the  crowded  Cannebiere 
and  sees  the  full  tide  of  human  life  flow  eagerly  on  down 
that  picturesque  boulevard.  That,  after  all,  is  the  main 
picture  that  Marseilles  always  leaves  photographed  on 
the  visitor's  memory.  How  eager,  how  keen,  how  viva- 
cious is  the  talk;  how  fiery  the  eyes;  how  emphatic  the 
gesture !  With  what  teeming  energy,  with  what  feverish 
haste,  the  great  city  pours  forth  its  hurrying  thousands ! 
With  what  endless  spirit  they  move  up  and  down  in  end- 
less march  upon  its  clattering  pavements !  Circulez,  mes- 
sieurs, circulez:  and  they  do  just  circulate!  From  the 
Quai  de  la  Fraternite  to  the  Alices  de  Meilhan,  what 
mirth  and  merriment,  what  life  and  movement !  In  every 
cafe ,  what  warm  southern  faces !  At  every  shop-door, 
what  quick-witted,  sharp-tongued,  bartering  humanity  !  I 
have  many  times  stopped  at  Marseilles,  on  my  way  hither 
and  thither  round  this  terraqueous  globe,  farther  south  or 
east ;  but  I  never  stop  there  without  feeling  once  more 
the  charm  and  interest  of  its  strenuous  personality.  There 
is  something  of  Greek  quickness  and  Greek  intelligence 
left  even  now  about  the  old  Phocaean  colony.  A  Marseil- 
lais  crowd  has  to  this  very  day  something  of  the  sharp 
Hellenic  wit ;  and  I  believe  the  rollicking  humor  of  Aris- 
tophanes would  be  more  readily  seized  by  the  public  of 
the  Alcazar  than  by  any  other  popular  audience  in  modern 
Europe. 

"  Bon  chien  chasse  de  race,"  and  every  Marseillais  is  a 
born  Greek  and  a  born  litterateur.  Is  it  not  partly  to  this 
old  Greek  blood,  then,  that  we  may  set  down  the  long  list 
of  distinguished  men  who  have  drawn  their  first  breath 
in  the  Phocsean  city  ?  From  the  days  of  the  Troubadours, 
Raymond  des  Tours  and  Barral  des  Baux,  Folguet,  and 


122  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Rostang,  and  De  Salles,  and  Berenger,  through  the  days 
of  D'Urfe,  and  Mascaron,  and  Barbaroux,  and  De  Pas- 
toret,  to  the  days  of  Mery,  and  Barthelemy,  and  Taxile 
Delord,  and  Joseph  Autran,  Marseilles  has  always  been 
rich  in  talent.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  her  list  of  great 
men  begins  with  Petronius  Arbiter,  and  ends  with  Thiers, 
to  show  how  long  and  diversely  she  has  been  represented 
in  her  foremost  citizens.  Surely,  then,  it  is  not  mere 
fancy  to  suppose  that  in  all  this  the  true  Hellenic  blood 
has  counted  for  something!  Surely  it  is  not  too  much 
to  believe  that  with  the  Greek  profile  and  the  Greek  com- 
plexion the  inhabitants  have  still  preserved  to  this  day 
some  modest  measure  of  the  quick  Greek  intellect,  the 
bright  Greek  fancy,  and  the  plastic  and  artistic  Greek 
creative  faculty !  I  love  to  think  it,  for  Marseilles  is  dear 
to  me;  especially  when  I  land  there  after  a  sound  sea- 
tossing. 

Unlike  many  of  the  old  Mediterranean  towns,  too,  Mar- 
seilles has  not  only  a  past  but  also  a  future.  She  lives 
and  will  live.  In  the  midde  of  the  past  century,  indeed,  it 
might  almost  have  seemed  to  a  careless  observer  as  if  the 
Mediterranean  were  "  played  out."  And  so  in  part,  no 
doubt,  it  really  is;  the  tracks  of  commerce  and  of  inter- 
national intercourse  have  shifted  to  wider  seas  and  vaster 
waterways.  We  shall  never  again  find  that  inland  basin 
ringed  round  by  a  girdle  of  the  great  merchant  cities  that 
do  the  carrying  trade  and  finance  of  the  world.  Our 
area  has  widened,  so  that  New  York,  Rio,  San  Francisco, 
Yokohama,  Shanghai,  Calcutta,  Bombay,  and  Melbourne 
have  taken  the  place  of  Syracuse,  Alexandria,  Tyre,  and 
Carthage,  of  Florence,  Genoa,  Venice,  and  Constanti- 
nople. But  in  spite  of  this  cramping  change,  this  degra- 
dation of  the  Mediterranean  from  the  center  of  the  world 


THE  NEW  MARSEILLES  123 

into  a  mere  auxiliary  or  side-avenue  of  the  Atlantic,  a 
certain  number  of  Mediterranean  ports  have  lived  on  un- 
interruptedly by  force  of  position  from  one  epoch  into  the 
other.  Venice  has  had  its  faint  revival  of  recent  years; 
Trieste  has  had  its  rise;  Barcelona,  Algiers,  Smyrna, 
Odessa,  have  grown  into  great  harbors  for  cosmopolitan 
traffic.  Of  this  new  and  rejuvenescent  Mediterranean, 
girt  round  by  the  fresh  young  nationalities  of  Italy  and 
the  Orient,  and  itself  no  longer  an  inland  sea,  but  linked 
by  the  Suez  Canal  with  the  Indian  Ocean  and  so 
turned  into  the  main  highway  of  the  nations  between  East 
and  West,  Marseilles  is  still  the  key  and  the  capital. 
That  proud  position  the  Phocsean  city  is  not  likely  to  lose. 
And  as  the  world  is  wider  now  than  ever,  the  new  Mar- 
seilles is  perforce  a  greater  and  a  wealthier  town  than 
even  the  old  one  in  its  proudest  days.  Where  tribute 
came  once  from  the  North  African,  Levantine,  and  Italian 
coasts  alone,  it  comes  now  from  every  shore  of  Europe, 
Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  with  Australia  and  the  Pacific 
Isles  thrown  in  as  an  afterthought.  Regions  Caesar  never 
knew  enrich  the  good  Greeks  of  the  Quai  de  la  Fra- 
ternite :  brown,  black,  and  yellow  men  whom  his  legions 
never  saw  send  tea  and  silk,  cotton,  corn,  and  tobacco  to 
the  crowded  warehouses  of  the  Cannebiere  and  the  Rue 
de  la  Republique. 


VI 
NICE 

The  Queen  of  the  Riviera — The  Port  of  Limpia — Castle  Hill— 
Promenade  des  Anglais — The  Carnival  and  Battle  of  Flowers 
— Place  Massena,  the  center  of  business — Beauty  of  the 
suburbs — The  road  to  Monte  Carlo — The  quaintly  picturesque 
town  of  Villefranche — Aspects  of  Nice  and  its  environs. 

WHO  loves  not  Nice,  knows  it  not.  Who  knows 
it,  loves  it.  I  admit  it  is  windy,  dusty,  gusty. 
I  allow  it  is  meretricious,  fashionable,  vulgar. 
I  grant  its  Carnival  is  a  noisy  orgy,  its  Promenade  a  meet- 
ing place  for  all  the  wealthiest  idlers  of  Europe  or 
America,  and  its  clubs  more  desperate  than  Monte  Carlo 
itself  in  their  excessive  devotion  to  games  of  hazard. 
And  yet,  with  all  its  faults,  I  love  it  still.  Yes,  delib- 
erately love  it ;  for  nothing  that  man  has  done  or  may  ever 
do  to  mar  its  native  beauty  can  possibly  deface  that 
beauty  itself  as  God  made  it.  Nay,  more,  just  because  it 
is  Nice,  we  can  readily  pardon  it  these  obvious  faults  and 
minor  blemishes.  The  Queen  of  the  Riviera,  with  all  her 
coquettish  little  airs  and  graces,  pleases  none  the  less,  like 
some  proud  and  haughty  girl  in  court  costume,  partly  by 
reason  of  that  very  finery  of  silks  and  feathers  which  we 
half-heartedly  deprecate.  If  she  were  not  herself,  she 
would  be  other  than  she  is.  Nice  is  Nice,  and  that  is 
enough  for  us. 

124 


ITS  SURROUNDINGS  125 

Was  ever  town  more  graciously  set,  indeed,  in  more 
gracious  surroundings  ?  Was  ever  pearl  girt  round  with 
purer  emeralds?  On  every  side  a  vast  semicircle  of 
mountains  hems  it  in,  among  which  the  bald  and  naked 
summit  of  the  Mont  Cau  d'Aspremont  towers  highest  and 
most  conspicuous  above  its  darkling  compeers.  In  front 
the  blue  Mediterranean,  that  treacherous  Mediterranean 
all  guile  and  loveliness,  smiles  with  myriad  dimples  to  the 
clear-cut  horizon.  Eastward,  the  rocky  promontories  of 
the  Mont  Boron  and  the  Cap  Ferrat  jut  boldly  out  into 
the  sea  with  their  fringe  of  white  dashing  breakers. 
Westward,  the  longer  and  lower  spit  of  the  point  of 
Antibes  bounds  the  distant  view,  with  the  famous  pil- 
grimage chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  la  Garoupe  just  dimly 
visible  on  its  highest  knoll  against  the  serrated  ridge  of 
the  glorious  Esterel  in  the  background.  In  the  midst  of 
all  nestles  Nice  itself,  the  central  gem  in  that  coronet  of 
mountains.  There  are  warmer  and  more  sheltered  nooks 
on  the  Riviera,  I  will  allow :  there  can  be  none  more 
beautiful.  Mentone  may  surpass  it  in  the  charm  of  its 
mountain  paths  and  innumerable  excursions ;  Cannes  in 
the  rich  variety  of  its  nearer  walks  and  drives ;  but  for 
mingled  glories  of  land  and  sea,  art  and  nature,  antiquity 
and  novelty,  picturesqueness  and  magnificence,  Nice  still 
stands  without  a  single  rival  on  all  that  enchanted  coast 
that  stretches  its  long  array  of  cities  and  bays  between 
Marseilles  and  Genoa.  There  are  those,  I  know,  who  run 
down  Nice  as  commonplace  and  vulgarized.  But  then. 
they  can  never  have  strayed  one  inch,  I  feel  sure,  from 
the  palm-shaded  trottoir  of  the  Promenade  des  Anglais. 
If  you  want  Italian  medievalism,  go  to  the  Old  Town ;  if 
you  want  quaint  marine  life,  go  to  the  good  Greek  port 
of  Limpia;  if  you  want  a  grand  view  of  sea.  and  land  and 


126  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

snow  mountains  in  the  distance,  go  to  the  Castle  Hill; 
if  you  want  the  most  magnificent  panorama  in  the  whole 
of  Europe,  go  to  the  summit  of  the  Corniche  Road.  No, 
no;  these  brawlers  disturb  our  pure  worship.  We  have 
only  one  Nice,  let  us  make  the  most  of  it. 

It  is  so  easy  to  acquire  a  character  for  superiority  by 
affecting  to  criticize  what  others  admire.  It  is  so  easy 
to  pronounce  a  place  vulgar  and  uninteresting  by  taking 
care  to  see  only  the  most  vulgar  and  uninteresting  parts 
of  it.  But  the  old  Rivieran  who  knows  his  Nice  well, 
and  loves  it  dearly,  is  troubled  rather  by  the  opposite 
difficulty.  Where  there  is  so  much  to  look  at  and  so 
much  to  describe,  where  to  begin  ?  what  to  omit  ?  how 
much  to  glide  over?  how  much  to  insist  upon?  Lan- 
guage fails  him  to  give  a  conception  of  this  complex  and 
polychromatic  city  in  a  few  short  pages  to  anyone  who 
knows  it  by  name  alone  as  the  cosmopolitan  winter  capital 
of  fashionable  seekers  after  health  and  pleasure.  It  is 
that,  indeed,  but  it  is  so  much  more  that  one  can  never 
tell  it. 

For  there  are  at  least  three  distinct  Nices,  Greek, 
Italian,  French;  each  of  them  beautiful  in  its  own  way, 
and  each  of  them  interesting  for  its  own  special  features. 
To  the  extreme  east,  huddled  in  between  the  Mont  Boron 
and  the  Castle  Hill,  lies  the  seafaring  Greek  town,  the 
most  primitive  and  original  Nice  of  all ;  the  home  of  the 
fisher-folk  and  the  petty  coasting  sailors;  the  Nicsea  of 
the  old  undaunted  Phocsean  colonists ;  the  Nizza  di  Mare 
of  modern  Italians;  the  mediaeval  city;  the  birthplace  of 
Garibaldi.  Divided  from  this  earliest  Nice  by  the  scarped 
rock  on  whose  summit  stood  the  chateau  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  the  eighteenth  century  Italian  town  (the  Old 
Town  as  tourists  nowadays  usually  call  it,  the  central 


THE  PORT  OF  LIMPIA  127 

town  of  the  three)  occupies  the  space  between  the  Castle 
Hill  and  the  half  dry  bed  of  the  Paillon  torrent.  Finally, 
west  of  the  Paillon,  again,  the  modern  fashionable  pleas- 
ure resort  extends  its  long  line  of  villas,  hotels,  and 
palaces  in  front  of  the  sea  to  the  little  stream  of  the 
Magnan  on  the  road  to  Cannes,  and  stretches  back  in 
endless  boulevards  and  avenues  and  gardens  to  the 
smiling  heights  of  Cimiez  and  Carabacel.  Every  one  of 
these  three  towns,  "  in  three  different  ages  born,"  has 
its  own  special  history  and  its  own  points  of  interest. 
Every  one  of  them  teems  with  natural  beauty,  with 
picturesque  elements,  and  with  varieties  of  life,  hard  in- 
deed to  discover  elsewhere. 

The  usual  guide-book  way  to  attack  Nice  is,  of  course, 
the  topsy-turvey  one,  to  begin  at  the  Haussmannised 
white  fagades  of  the  Promenade  des  Anglais  and  work 
backwards  gradually  through  the  Old  Town  to  the  Port 
of  Limpia  and  the  original  nucleus  that  surrounds  its 
quays.  I  will  venture,  however,  to  disregard  this  time- 
honored  but  grossly  unhistorical  practice,  and  allow  the 
reader  and  myself,  for  once  in  our  lives,  to  "  begin  at  the 
beginning."  The  Port  of  Limpia,  then,  is,  of  course, 
the  natural  starting  point  and  prime  original  of  the  very 
oldest  Nice.  Hither,  in  the  fifth  century  before  the 
Christian  era,  the  bold  Phocsean  settlers  of  Marseilles 
sent  out  a  little  colony,  which  landed  in  the  tiny  land- 
locked harbor  and  called  the  spot  Nicsea  (that  is  to  say, 
the  town  of  victory)  in  gratitude  for  their  success  against 
its  rude  Ligurian  owners.  For  twenty-two  centuries  it 
has  retained  that  name  almost  unchanged,  now  perhaps, 
the  only  memento  still  remaining  of  its  Greek  origin. 
During  its  flourishing  days  as  a  Hellenic  city  Nicaea 
ranked  among  the  chief  commercial  entrepots  of  the 


128  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Ligurian  coast ;  but  when  "  the  Province  "  fell  at  last  into 
the  hands  of  the  Romans,  and  the  dictator  Caesar  favored 
rather  the  pretensions  of  Cemenelum  or  Cimiez  on  the 
hill-top  in  the  rear,  the  town  that  clustered  round  the 
harbor  of  Limpia  became  for  a  time  merely  the  port  of 
its  more  successful  inland  rival.  Cimiez  still  possesses 
its  fine  ruined  Roman  amphitheater  and  baths,  besides 
relics  of  temples  and  some  other  remains  of  the  im- 
perial period ;  but  the  "  Quartier  du  Port,"  the  ancient 
town  of  Nice  itself,  is  almost  destitute  of  any  architectural 
signs  of  its  antique  greatness. 

Nevertheless,  the  quaint  little  seafaring  village  that 
clusters  round  the  harbor,  entirely  cut  off  as  it  is  by  the 
ramping  crags  of  the  Castle  Hill  from  its  later  repre- 
sentative, the  Italianized  Nice  of  the  last  century,  may 
fairly  claim  to  be  the  true  Nice  of  history,  the  only  spot 
that  bore  that  name  till  the  days  of  the  Bourbons.  Its 
annals  are  far  too  long  and  far  too  eventful  to  be  nar- 
rated here  in  full.  Goths,  Burgundians,  Lombards,  and 
Franks  disputed  for  it  in  turn,  as  the  border  fortress  be- 
tween Gaul  and  Italy;  and  that  familiar  round  white 
bastion  on  the  eastern  face  of  the  Castle  Hill,  now  known 
to  visitors  as  the  Tour  Bellanda,  and  included  (such  is 
fate!)  as  a  modern  belvedere  in  the  grounds  of  the  com- 
fortable Pension  Suisse,  was  originally  erected  in  the 
fifth  century  after  Christ  to  protect  the  town  from  the 
attacks  of  these  insatiable  invaders.  But  Nice  had  its 
consolations,  too,  in  these  evil  days,  for  when  the  Lom- 
bards at  last  reduced  the  hill  fortress  of  Cimiez,  the 
Roman  town,  its  survivors  took  refuge  from  their  con- 
querors in  the  city  by  the  port,  which  thus  became  once 
more,  by  the  fall  of  its  rival,  unquestioned  mistress  of 
the  surrounding  littoral. 


CASTLE  HILL  129 

The  after  story  of  Nice  is  confused  and  confusing. 
Now  a  vassal  of  the  Prankish  kings ;  now  again  a  member 
of  the  Genoese  league ;  now  engaged  in  a  desperate  con: 
flict  with  the  piratical  Saracens ;  and  now  constituted  into 
a  little  independent  republic  on  the  Italian  model;  Nizza 
struggled  on  against  an  adverse  fate  as  a  fighting-ground 
of  the  races,  till  it  fell  finally  into  the  hands  of  the  Counts 
of  Savoy,  to  whom  it  owes  whatever  little  still  remains  of 
the  mediaeval  castle.  Continually  changing  hands  be- 
tween France  and  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia  in  later  days, 
it  was  ultimately  made  over  to  Napoleon  III.  by  the 
Treaty  of  Villafranca,  and  is  now  completely  and  en- 
tirely Gallicized.  The  native  dialect,  however,  remains 
even  to  the  present  day  an  intermediate  form  between 
Provencal  and  Italian,  and  is  freely  spoken  (with  more 
force  than  elegance)  in  the  Old  Town  and  around  the 
enlarged  modern  basins  of  the  Port  of  Limpia.  Indeed, 
for  frankness  of  expression  and  perfect  absence  of  any 
false  delicacy,  the  ladies  of  the  real  oM  Greek  Nice  sur- 
pass even  their  London  compeers  at  Billingsgate. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  and  unique  features  of  Nice 
at  the  present  day  is  the  Castle  Hill  a  mass  of  solid 
rearing  rock,  not  unlike  its  namesake  at  Edinburgh  in 
position,  intervening  between  the  Port  and  the  eighteenth 
century  town,  to  which  latter  I  will  in  future  allude  as  the 
Italian  city.  It  is  a  wonderful  place,  that  Castle  Hill — 
wonderful  alike  by  nature,  art,  and  history,  and  I  fear  I 
must  also  add  at  the  same  time  "  uglification."  In  earlier 
days  it  bore  on  its  summit  or  slopes  the  chateau  fort  of 
the  Counts  of  Provence  with  the  old  cathedral  and  arch- 
bishop's palace  (now  wholly  destroyed),  and  the  famous 
deep  well,  long  ranked  among  the  wonders  of  the  world 
in  the  way  of  engineering.  But  military  necessity  knows 


130  THE  MEDITERRANEAN     - 

no  law;  the  cathedral  gave  place  in  the  fifteenth  century 
to  the  bastions  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy's  new-fangled  castle ; 
the  castle  itself  in  turn  was  mainly  battered  down  in  1706 
by  the  Duke  of  Berwick;  and  of  all  its  antiquities  none 
now  remain  save  the  Tour  Bellanda,  in  its  degraded  con- 
dition of  belvedere,  and  the  scanty  ground-plan  of  the 
mediaeval  buildings. 

Nevertheless,  the  Castle  Hill  is  still  one  of  the  loveliest 
and  greenest  spots  in  Nice.  A  good  carriage  road  as- 
cends it  to  the  top  by  leafy  gradients,  and  leads  to  an 
open  platform  on  the  summit,  now  converted  into  charm- 
ing gardens,  rich  with  palms  and  aloes  and  cactuses  and 
bright  southern  flowers.  On  one  side,  alas !  a  painfully 
artificial  cataract,  fed  from  the  overflow  of  the  water- 
works, falls  in  stiff  cascades  among  hand-built  rockwork ; 
but  even  that  impertinent  addition  to  the  handicraft  of 
nature  can  hardly  offend  the  visitor  for  long  among  such 
glorious  surroundings.  For  the  view  from  the  summit 
is  one  of  the  grandest  in  all  France.  The  eye  ranges 
right  and  left  over  a  mingled  panorama  of  sea  and  moun- 
tains, scarcely  to  be  equaled  anywhere  round  the  lovely 
Mediterranean,  save  on  the  Ligurian  coast  and  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Sorrento.  Southward  lies  the  blue  expanse 
of  water  itself,  bounded  only  in  very  clear  and  cloudless 
weather  by  the  distant  peaks  of  Corsica  on  the  doubtful 
horizon.  Westward,  the  coast-line  includes  the  promon- 
tory of  Antibes,  basking  low  on  the  sea,  the  lies  Lerins 
near  Cannes,  the  mouth  of  the  Var,  and  the  dim-jagged 
ridge  of  the  purple  Esterel.  Eastward,  the  bluff  head- 
land of  the  Mont  Boron,  grim  and  brown,  blocks  the 
view  towards  Italy.  Close  below  the  spectator's  feet  the 
three  distinct  towns  of  Nice  gather  round  the  Port  and 
the  two  banks  of  the  Paillon,  spreading  their  garden 


RAUBA  CAPEU.  131 

suburbs,  draped  in  roses  and  lemon  groves,  high  up  the 
spurs  of  the  neighboring  mountains.  But  northward  a 
tumultuous  sea  of  Alps  rises  billow-like  to  the  sky,  the 
nearer  peaks  frowning  bare  and  rocky,  while  the  more 
distant  domes  gleam  white  with  virgin  snow.  It  is  a 
sight,  once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten.  One  glances 
around  entranced,  and  murmurs  to  oneself  slowly,  "  It  is 
good  to  be  here."  Below,  the  carriages  are  rolling  like 
black  specks  along  the  crowded  Promenade,  and  the  band 
is  playing  gaily  in  the  Public  Garden;  but  up  there  you 
look  across  to  the  eternal  hills,  and  feel  yourself  face  to 
face  for  one  moment  with  the  Eternities  behind  them. 

One  may  descend  from  the  summit  either  by  the  ancient 
cemetery  or  by  the  Place  Garibaldi,  through  bosky 
gardens  of  date-palm,  fan-palm,  and  agave.  Cool  wind- 
ing alleys  now  replace  the  demolished  ramparts,  and 
lovely  views  open  out  on  every  side  as  we  proceed  over 
the  immediate  foreground. 

At  the  foot  of  the  Castle  Hill,  a  modern  road,  hewn 
in  the  solid  rock  round  the  base  of  the  seaward  escarp- 
ment, connects  the  Greek  with  the  Italian  town.  The 
angle  where  it  turns  the  corner,  bears  on  native  lips  the 
quaint  Provengal  or  rather  Nigois  name  of  Raiiba  Capeu 
or  Rob-hat  Point,  from  the  common  occurrence  of  sudden 
gusts  of  wind,  which  remove  the  unsuspecting  Parisian 
headgear  with  effective  rapidity,  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
observant  gamins.  Indeed,  windiness  is  altogether  the 
weak  point  of  Nice,  viewed  as  a  health-resort;  the  town 
lies  exposed  in  the  open  valley  of  the  Paillon,  down  whose 
baking  bed  the  mistral,  that  scourge  of  Provence,  sweeps 
with  violent  force  from  the  cold  mountain-tops  in  the 
rear ;  and  so  it  cannot  for  a  moment  compete  in  point  of 
climate  with  Cannes,  Monte  Carlo,  Mentone  or  San 


132  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Remo,  backed  up  close  behind  by  their  guardian  barrier 
of  sheltering  hills.  But  not  even  the  mistral  can  make 
those  who  love  Nice  love  her  one  atom  the  less.  Her 
virtues  are  so  many  that  a  little  wholesome  bluster  once 
in  a  while  may  surely  be  forgiven  her.  And  yet  the 
dust  does  certainly  rise  in  clouds  at  times  from  the 
Promenade  des  Anglais. 

The  Italian  city,  which  succeeds  next  in  order,  is  pic- 
turesque and  old-fashioned,  but  is  being  daily  trans- 
formed and  Gallicized  out  of  all  knowledge  by  its  modern 
French  masters.  It  dates  back  mainly  to  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  when  the  population  became  too 
dense  for  the  narrow  limits  of  the  small  Greek  town,  and 
began  to  overflow,  behind  the  Castle  Hill,  on  to  the  eastern 
banks  of  the  Paillon  torrent.  The  sea-front  in  this 
quarter,  now  known  as  the  Promenade  du  Midi,  has  been 
modernized  into  a  mere  eastward  prolongation  of  the 
Promenade  des  Anglais,  of  which  "  more  anon ;  "  but  the 
remainder  of  the  little  triangular  space  between  the  Castle 
Hill  and  the  river-bed  still  consists  of  funny  narrow 
Italian  lanes,  dark,  dense,  and  dingy,  from  whose  midst 
rises  the  odd  and  tile-covered  dome  of  the  cathedral  of  St. 
Reparate.  That  was  the  whole  of  Nice  as  it  lived  and 
moved  till  the  beginning  of  this  century ;  the  real  Nice 
of  to-day,  the  Nice  of  the  tourist,  the  invalid,  and  the 
fashionable  world,  the  Nice  that  we  all  visit  or  talk  about, 
is  a  purely  modern  accretion  of  some  half-dozen  decades. 

This  wonderful  modern  town,  with  its  stately  sea- 
front,  its  noble  quays,  its  dainty  white  villas,  its  magnifi- 
cent hotels,  and  its  Casino,  owes  its  existence  entirely  to 
the  vogue  which  the  coast  has  acquired  in  our  own  times 
as  a  health-resort  for  consumptives.  As  long  ago  as 
Smollett's  time,  the  author  of  "  Roderick  Random  "  re- 


PROMENADE  DES  ANGLAIS  133 

marks  complacently  that  an  acquaintance,  "  understand- 
ing I  intended  to  winter  in  the  South  of  France,  strongly 
recommended  the  climate  of  Nice  in  Provence,  which 
indeed  I  had  often  heard  extolled,"  as  well  he  might  have 
done.  But  in  those  days  visitors  had  to  live  in  the  narrow 
and  dirty  streets  of  the  Italian  town,  whose  picturesque- 
ness  itself  can  hardly  atone  for  their  unwholesome  air  and 
their  unsavory  odors.  It  was  not  till  the  hard  winters 
of  1822-23-24  that  a  few  kind-hearted  English  residents, 
anxious  to  find  work  for  the  starving  poor,  began  the  con- 
struction of  a  sea-road  beyond  the  Paillon,  which  still 
bears  the  name  of  the  Promenade  des  Anglais.  Nice 
may  well  commemorate  their  deed  to  this  day,  for  to  them 
she  owes  as  a  watering-place  her  very  existence. 

The  western  suburb,  thus  pushed  beyond  the  bed  of 
the  boundary  torrent,  has  gradually  grown  in  wealth  and 
prosperity  till  it  now  represents  the  actual  living  Nice 
of  the  tourist  and  the  winter  resident.  But  how  to  de- 
scribe that  gay  and  beautiful  city;  that  vast  agglomera- 
tion of  villas,  pensions,  hotels,  and  clubs;  that  endless 
array  of  sun-worshipers  gathered  together  to  this  temple 
of  the  sun  from  all  the  four  quarters  of  the  habitable 
globe?  The  sea-front  consists  of  the  Promenade  des 
Anglais  itself,  which  stretches  in  an  unbroken  line  of 
white  and  glittering  houses,  most  of  them  tasteless,  but 
all  splendid  and  all  opulent,  from  the  old  bank  of  the 
Paillon  to  its  sister  torrent,  the  Magnan,  some  two  miles 
away.  On  one  side  the  villas  front  the  shore  with  their 
fantastic  facades ;  on  the  other  side  a  walk,  overshadowed 
with  date-palms  and  purple-flowering  judas-trees,  lines 
the  steep  shingle  beach  of  the  tideless  sea. 

There  is  one  marked  peculiarity  of  the  Promenade  des 
Anglais,  however,  which  at  once  distinguishes  it  from 


134  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

any  similar  group  of  private  houses  to  be  found  anywhere 
in  England.  There  the  British  love  of  privacy,  which 
has,  of  course,  its  good  points,  but  has  also  its  compen- 
sating disadvantages,  leads  almost  every  owner  of  beau- 
tiful grounds  or  gardens  to  enclose  them  with  a  high 
fence  or  with  the  hideous  monstrosity  known  to  suburban 
Londoners  as  "  park  paling."  This  plan,  while  it  ensures 
complete  seclusion  for  the  fortunate  few  within,  shuts  out 
the  deserving  many  outside  from  all  participation  in  the 
beauty  of  the  grounds  or  the  natural  scenery.  On  the 
Promenade  des  Anglais,  on  the  contrary,  a  certain  gen- 
erous spirit  of  emulation  in  contributing  to  the  public  en- 
joyment and  the  general  effectiveness  of  the  scene  as  a 
whole  has  prompted  the  owners  of  the  villas  along  the 
sea-front  to  enclose  their  gardens  only  with  low  orna- 
mental balustrades  or  with  a  slight  and  unobtrusive  iron 
fence,  so  that  the  passers-by  can  see  freely  into  every  one 
of  them,  and  feast  their  eyes  on  the  beautiful  shrubs  and 
flowers.  The  houses  and  grounds  thus  form  a  long  line 
of  delightful  though  undoubtedly  garish  and  ornate  dec- 
orations, in  full  face  of  the  sea.  The  same  plan  has  been 
adopted  in  the  noble  residential  street  known  as  Euclid 
Avenue  at  Cleveland,  Ohio,  and  in  many  other  American 
cities.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  English  tastes  and  habits 
do  not  oftener  thus  permit  their  wealthier  classes  to  con- 
tribute, at  no  expense  or  trouble  to  themselves,  to  the 
general  pleasure  of  less  fortunate  humanity. 

The  Promenade  is,  of  course,  during  the  season  the 
focus  and  center  of  fashionable  life  at  Nice.  Here  car- 
nages roll,  and  amazons  ride  and  flaneurs  lounge  in  the 
warm  sunshine  during  the  livelong  afternoon.  In  front 
are  the  baths,  bathing  being  practicable  at  Nice  from  the 
beginning  of  March;  behind  are  the  endless  hotels  and 


THE  CARNIVAL  135 

clubs  of  this  city  of  strangers.  For  the  English  are  not 
alone  on  the  Promenade  des  Anglais ;  the  American  tongue 
is  heard  there  quite  as  often  as  the  British  dialect, 
while  Germans,  Russians,  Poles,  and  Austrians  cluster 
thick  upon  the  shady  seats  beneath  the  planes  and  carob- 
trees.  During  the  Carnival  especially  Nice  resolves  itself 
into  one  long  orgy  of  frivolous  amusement.  Battles  of 
flowers,  battles  of  confetti,  open-air  masquerades,  and 
universal  torn-foolery  pervade  the  place.  Everybody  vies 
with  everybody  else  in  making  himself  ridiculous;  and 
even  the  staid  Briton,  released  from  the  restraints  of  home 
or  the  City,  abandons  himself  contentedly  for  a  week  at 
a  time  to  a  sort  of  prolonged  and  glorified  sunny  southern 
Derby  Day.  Mr.  Bultitude  disguises  himself  as  a  French 
clown ;  Mr.  Dombey,  in  domino,  flings  roses  at  his  friends 
on  the  seats  of  the  tribune.  Everywhere  is  laughter, 
noise,  bustle,  and  turmoil ;  everywhere  the  manifold  forms 
of  antique  saturnalian  freedom,  decked  out  with  gay 
flowers  or  travestied  in  quaint  clothing,  but  imported 
most  incongruously  for  a  week  in  the  year  into  the  midst 
of  our  modern  work-a-day  twentieth-century  Europe. 

Only  a  comparatively  few  winters  ago  fashionable  Nice 
consisted  almost  entirely  of  the  Promenade  des  Anglais, 
with  a  few  slight  tags  and  appendages  in  either  direction. 
At  its  eastern  end  stood  (and  still  stands)  the  Jardin 
Public,  that  paradise  of  children  and  of  be-ribboned 
French  nursemaids,  where  the  band  discourses  lively 
music  every  afternoon  at  four,  and  all  the  world  sits 
round  on  two-sou  chairs  to  let  all  the  rest  of  the  world 
see  for  itself  it  is  still  in  evidence.  These,  and  the  stately 
quays  along  the  Paillon  bank,  lined  with  shops  where 
female  human  nature  can  buy  all  the  tastiest  and  most 
expensive  gewgaws  in  Europe,  constituted  the  real  Nice 


136  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

of  the  early  eighties.  But  with  the  rapid  growth  of  that 
general  taste  for  more  sumptuous  architecture  which 
marks  our  age,  the  Phocsean  city  woke  up  a  few  years 
since  with  electric  energy  to  find  itself  in  danger  of  being 
left  behind  by  its  younger  competitors.  So  the  Nigois 
conscript  fathers  put  their  wise  heads  together,  in  con- 
clave assembled,  and  resolved  on  a  general  transmogrifi- 
cation of  the  center  of  their  town.  By  continuously  bridg- 
ing and  vaulting  across  the  almost  dry  bed  of  the  Paillon 
torrent  they  obtained  a  broad  and  central  site  for  a  new 
large  garden,  which  now  forms  the  natural  focus  of  the 
transformed  city.  On  the  upper  end  of  this  important 
site  they  erected  a  large  and  handsome  casino  in  the  gor- 
geous style  of  the  Third  Republic,  all  glorious  without  and 
within,  as  the  modern  Frenchman  understands  such  glory, 
and  provided  with  a  theater,  a  winter  garden,  restau- 
rants, cafes,  ball-rooms,  petits  chevaux,  and  all  the  other 
most  pressing  requirements  of  an  advanced  civilization. 
But  in  doing  this  they  sacrificed  by  the  way  the  beautiful 
view  towards  the  mountains  behind,  which  can  now  only 
be  obtained  from  the  Square  Massena  or  the  Pont  Vieux 
farther  up  the  river.  Most  visitors  to  Nice,  however, 
care  little  for  views,  and  a  great  deal  for  the  fitful  and 
fearsome  joys  embodied  to  their  minds  in  the  outward 
and  visible  form  of  a  casino. 

This  wholesale  bridging  over  of  the  lower  end  of  the 
Paillon  has  united  the  French  and  Italian  towns  and 
abolished  the  well-marked  boundary  line  which  once  cut 
them  off  so  conspicuously  from  one  another.  The  inevi- 
table result  has  been  that  the  Italian  town  too  has  under- 
gone a  considerable  modernization  along  the  sea-front, 
so  that  the  Promenade  des  Anglais  and  the  Promenade 
du  Midi  now  practically  merge  into  one  continuous 


THE  PLACE  MASSENA  137 

parade,  and  are  lined  along  all  their  length  with  the  same 
clipped  palm-trees  and  the  same  magnificent  white  palatial 
buildings.  When  the  old  theater  in  the  Italian  town  was 
burnt  down  in  the  famous  and  fatal  conflagration  some 
years  since  the  municipality  erected  a  new  one  on  the 
same  site  in  the  most  approved  style  of  Parisian  luxury. 
A  little  behind  lie  the  Prefecture  and  the  beautiful  flower 
market,  which  no  visitor  to  Nice  should  ever  miss;  for 
Nice  is  above  all  things,  even  more  than  Florence,  a  city 
of  flowers.  The  sheltered  quarter  of  the  Ponchettes, 
lying  close  under  the  lee  of  the  Castle  Hill,  has  become 
of  late,  owing  to  these  changes,  a  favorite  resort  for  in- 
valids, who  find  here  protection  from  the  cutting  winds 
which  sweep  with  full  force  down  the  bare  and  open 
valley  of  the  Paillon  over  the  French  town. 

I  am  loth  to  quit  that  beloved  sea-front,  on  the 
whole  the  most  charming  marine  parade  in  Europe, 
with  the  Villefranche  point  and  the  pseudo-Gothic, 
pseudo-Oriental  monstrosity  of  Smith's  Folly  on  one  side 
and  the  delicious  bay  towards  Antibes  on  the  other.  But 
there  are  yet  various  aspects  of  Nice  which  remain  to  be 
described :  the  interior  is  almost  as  lovely  in  its  way  as 
the  coast  that  fringes  it.  For  this  inner  Nice,  the  Place 
Massena,  called  (like  the  Place  Garibaldi)  after  another 
distinguished  native,  forms  the  starting  point  and  center. 
Here  the  trams  from  all  quarters  run  together  at  last ; 
hence  the  principal  roads  radiate  in  all  directions.  The 
Place  Massena  is  the  center  of  business,  as  the  Jardin 
Public  and  the  Casino  are  the  centers  of  pleasure.  Also 
(verbum  sap.)  it  contains  an  excellent  patisserie,  where 
you  can  enjoy  an  ice  or  a  little  French  pastry  with  less 
permanent  harm  to  your  constitution  and  morals  than 
anywhere  in  Europe.  Moreover,  it  forms  the  approach 


138  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  the  Avenue  de  la  Gare,  which  divides  with  the  Quays 
the  honor  of  being  the  best  shopping  street  in  the  most 
fashionable  watering-place  of  the  Mediterranean.  If 
these  delights  thy  soul  may  move,  why,  the  Place  Mas- 
sena  is  the  exact  spot  to  find  them  in. 

Other  great  boulevards,  like  the  Boulevard  Victor 
Hugo  and  the  Boulevard  Dubouchage,  have  been  opened 
out  of  late  years  to  let  the  surplus  wealth  that  flows  into 
Nice  in  one  constant  stream  find  room  to  build  upon. 
Chateaux  and  gardens  are  springing  up  merrily  on  every 
side ;  the  slopes  of  the  hills  gleam  gay  with  villas ;  Cimiez 
and  Carabacel,  once  separate  villages,  have  now  been 
united  by  continuous  dwellings  to  the  main  town ;  and 
before  long  the  city  where  Garibaldi  was  born  and  where 
Gambetta  lies  buried  will  swallow  up  in  itself  the  entire 
space  of  the  valley,  and  its  border  spurs  from  mountain 
to  mountain.  The  suburbs,  indeed,  are  almost  more 
lovely  in  their  way  than  the  town  itself;  and  as  one 
wanders  at  will  among  the  olive-clad  hills  to  westward, 
looking  down  upon  the  green  lemon-groves  that  encircle 
the  villas,  and  the  wealth  of  roses  that  drape  their  sides, 
one  cannot  wonder  that  Joseph  de  Maistre,  another  Nigois 
of  distinction,  in  the  long  dark  evenings  he  spent  at  St. 
Petersburg,  should  time  and  again  have  recalled  with  a 
sigh  "  ce  doux  vallon  de  Magnan."  Nor  have  the  Rus- 
sians themselves  failed  to  appreciate  the  advantages  of 
the  change,  for  they  flock  by  thousands  to  the  Orthodox 
Quarter  on  the  heights  of  Saint  Philippe,  which  rings 
round  the  Greek  chapel  erected  in  memory  of  the  Czare- 
witch  Nicholas  Alexandrowitch,  who  died  at  Nice  in 
1865. 

After  all,  however,  to  the  lover  of  the  picturesque  Nice 
town  itself  is  but  the  threshold  and  starting  point  for  that 


FALICON  139 

lovely  country  which  spreads  on  all  sides  its  endless  ob- 
jects of  interest  and  scenic  beauty  from  Antibes  to  Men- 
tone.  The  excursions  to  be  made  from  it  in  every  direc- 
tion are  simply  endless.  Close  by  lie  the  monastery  and 
amphitheater  of  Cimiez;  the  Italianesque  cloisters  and 
campanile  of  St.  Pons;  the  conspicuous  observatory  on 
the  Mont  Gros,  with  its  grand  Alpine  views ;  the  hill- 
side promenades  of  Le  Ray  and  Les  Fontaines.  Farther 
afield  the  carriage-road  up  the  Paillon  valley  leads  direct 
to  St.  Andre  through  a  romantic  limestone  gorge,  which 
terminates  at  last  in  a  grotto  and  natural  bridge,  over- 
hung by  the  moldering  remains  of  a  most  southern 
chateau.  A  little  higher  up,  the  steep  mountain  track 
takes  one  on  to  Falicon,  perched  "  like  an  eagle's  nest  " 
on  its  panoramic  hill-top,  one  of  the  most  famous  points 
of  view  among  the  Maritime  Alps.  The  boundary  hills 
of  the  Magnan,  covered  in  spring  with  the  purple  flowers 
of  the  wild  gladiolus ;  the  vine-clad  heights  of  Le  Bellet, 
looking  down  on  the  abrupt  and  rock-girt  basin  of  the 
Var;  the  Valley  of  Hepaticas,  carpeted  in  March  with 
innumerable  spring  blossoms ;  the  longer  drive  to  Contes 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountains :  all  alike  are  lovely, 
and  all  alike  tempt  one  to  linger  in  their  precincts  among 
the  shadow  of  the  cypress  trees  or  under  the  cool  grottos 
green  and  lush  with  spreading  fronds  of  wild  maiden- 
hair. 

Among  so  many  delitious  excursions  it  were  invidious 
to  single  out  any  for  special  praise ;  yet  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  most  popular,  at  least  with  the  general 
throng  of  tourists,  is  the  magnificent  coast-road  by  Ville- 
franche  (or  Villafranca)  to  Monte  Carlo  and  Monaco. 
This  particular  part  of  the  coast,  between  Nice  and  Men- 
tone,  is  the  one  where  the  main  range  of  the  Maritime 


140  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Alps,  abutting  at  last  on  the  sea,  tumbles  over  sheer  with 
a  precipitous  descent  from  four  thousand  feet  high  to  the 
level  of  the  Mediterranean.  Formerly,  the  barrier  ridge 
could  only  be  surmounted  by  the  steep  but  glorious  Cor- 
niche  route ;  of  late  years,  however,  the  French  engineers, 
most  famous  of  road-makers,  have  hewn  an  admirable 
carriage-drive  out  of  the  naked  rock,  often  through 
covered  galleries  or  tunnels  in  the  cliff  itself,  the  whole 
way  from  Nice  to  Monte  Carlo  and  Mentone.  The  older 
portion  of  this  road,  between  Nice  and  Villefranche,  falls 
well  within  the  scope  of  our  present  subject. 

You  leave  modern  Nice  by  the  quays  and  the  Pont 
Garibaldi,  dash  rapidly  through  the  new  broad  streets 
that  now  intersect  the  Italian  city,  skirt  the  square  basins 
lately  added  to  the  more  shapeless  ancient  Greek  port  of 
Limpia,  and  begin  to  mount  the  first  spurs  of  the  Mont 
Boron  among  the  villas  and  gardens  of  the  Quartier  du 
Lazaret.  Banksia  roses  fall  in  cataracts  over  the  walls 
as  you  go;  looking  back,  the  lovely  panorama  of  Nice 
opens  out  before  your  eyes.  In  the  foreground,  the 
rocky  islets  of  La  Reserve  foam  white  with  the  perpetual 
plashing  of  that  summer  sea.  In  the  middle  distance, 
the  old  Greek  harbor,  with  its  mole  and  lighthouse,  stands 
out  against  the  steep  rocks  of  the  Castle  Hill.  The  back- 
ground rises  up  in  chain  on  chain  of  Alps,  allowing  just 
a  glimpse  at  their  base  of  that  gay  and  fickle  promenade 
and  all  the  Parisian  prettinesses  olt  the  new  French  town. 
The  whole  forms  a  wonderful  picture  of  the  varied  Medi- 
terranean world,  Greek,  Roman,  Italian,  French,  with  the 
vine-clad  hills  and  orange-groves  behind  merging  slowly 
upward  into  the  snow-bound  Alps. 

Turning  the  corner  of  the  Mont  Boron  by  the  gro- 
tesque vulgarisms  of  the  Chateau  Smith  (a  curious  semi- 


VILLEFRANCHE  141 

oriental  specimen  of  the  shell-grotto  order  of  architecture 
on  a  gigantic  scale)  a  totally  fresh  view  bursts  upon  our 
eyes  of  the  Rade  de  Villefranche,  that  exquisite  land- 
locked bay  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  scarped  crags  of 
the  Mont  Boron  itself,  and  on  the  other  by  the  long  and 
rocky  peninsula  of  St.  Jean,  which  terminates  in  the  Cap 
Ferrat  and  the  Villefranche  light.  The  long  deep  bay 
forms  a  favorite  roadstead  and  rendezvous  for  the  French 
Mediterranean  squadron,  whose  huge  ironclad  monsters 
may  often  be  seen  ploughing  their  way  in  single  file  from 
seaward  round  the  projecting  headlands,  or  basking  at 
ease  on  the  calm  surface  of  that  glassy  pond.  The  sur- 
rounding heights,  of  course,  bristle  with  fortifications, 
which,  in  these  suspicious  days  of  armed  European  ten- 
sion, the  tourist  and  the  sketcher  are  strictly  prohibited 
from  inspecting  with  too  attentive  an  eye.  The  quaintly 
picturesque  town  of  Villefranche  itself,  Italian  and  dirty, 
but  amply  redeemed  by  its  slender  bell-tower  and  its 
olive-clad  terraces,  nestles  snugly  at  the  very  bottom  of 
its  pocket-like  bay.  The  new  road  to  Monte  Carlo 
leaves  it  far  below,  with  true  modern  contempt  for  mere 
old-world  beauty;  the  artist  and  the  lover  of  nature  will 
know  better  than  to  follow  the  example  of  those  ruthless 
engineers ;  they  will  find  many  subjects  for  a  sketch 
among  those  whitewashed  walls,  and  many  a  rare  sea- 
flower  tucked  away  unseen  among  those  crannied  crags. 
And  now,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  I,  who  have 
known  and  loved  Nice  for  so  many  bright  winters,  feel 
only  too  acutely  how  utterly  I  have  failed  to  set  before 
those  of  my  readers  who  know  it  not  the  infinite  charms 
of  that  gay  and  rose-wreathed  queen  of  the  smiling 
Riviera.  For  what  words  can  paint  the  life  and  move- 
ment of  the  sparkling  sea-front  ?  the  manifold  humors  of 


142  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  Jardin  Public?  the  southern  vivacity  of  the  washer- 
women who  pound  their  clothes  with  big  stones  in  the 
dry  bed  of  the  pebbly  Paillon?  the  luxuriant  festoons  of 
honeysuckle  and  mimosa  that  drape  the  trellis-work  ar- 
cades of  Carabacel  and  Cimiez?  Who  shall  describe 
aright  with  one  pen  the  gnarled  olives  of  Beaulieu  and 
the  palace-like  front  of  the  Cercle  de  la  Mediterranee?  , 
Who  shall  write  with  equal  truth  of  the  jewelers'  shops 
on  the  quays,  or  the  oriental  bazaars  of  the  Avenue,  and 
of  the  dome  after  dome  of  bare  mountain  tops  that  rise 
ever  in  long  perspective  to  the  brilliant  white  summits 
of  the  great  Alpine  backbone?  Who  shall  tell  in  one 
breath  of  the  carmagnoles  of  the  Carnival,  or  the  dust- 
begrimed  bouquets  of  the  Battle  of  Flowers,  and  of  the 
silent  summits  of  the  Mont  Cau  and  the  Cime  de  Vin- 
aigrier,  or  the  vast  and  varied  sea-view  that  bursts  on 
the  soul  unawares  from  the  Corniche  near  Eza?  There 
are  aspects  of  Nice  and  its  environs  which  recall  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,  or  the  Champs  filysees  after  a  Sunday 
review;  and  there  are  aspects  which  recall  the  prospect 
from  some  solemn  summit  of  the  Bernese  Oberland, 
mixed  with  some  heather-clad  hill  overlooking  the  green 
Atlantic  among  the  Western  Highlands.  Yet  all  is  so 
graciously  touched  and  lighted  with  Mediterranean  color 
and  Mediterranean  sunshine,  that  even  in  the  midst  of 
her  wildest  frolics  you  can  seldom  be  seriously  angry 
with  Nice.  The  works  of  God's  hand  are  never  far  off. 
You  look  up  from  the  crowd  of  carriages  and  loungers 
on  the  Promenade  des  Anglais,  and  the  Cap  Ferrat  rises 
bold  and  bluff  before  your  eyes  above  the  dashing  white 
waves  of  the  sky-blue  sea:  you  cross  the  bridge  behind 
the  Casino  amid  the  murmur  of  the  quays,  and  the  great 
bald  mountains  soar  aloft  to  heaven  above  the  brawling 


FLOWERS  AND  SUNSHINE  143 

valley  of  the  snow-fed  Paillon.  It  is  a  desecration,  per- 
haps, but  a  desecration  that  leaves  you  still  face  to  face 
with  all  that  is  purest  and  most  beautiful  in  nature. 

And  then,  the  flowers,  the  waves,  the  soft  air,  the  sun- 
shine! On  the  beach,  between  the  bathing  places,  men 
are  drying  scented  orange  peel  to  manufacture  perfumes : 
in  the  dusty  high  roads  you  catch  whiffs  as  you  pass  of 
lemon  blossom  and  gardenia :  the  very  trade  of  the  town 
is  an  expert  trade  in  golden  acacia  and  crimson  anem- 
ones: the  very  gamins  pelt  you  in  the  rough  horse- 
play of  the  Carnival  with  sweet-smelling  bunches  of 
syringa  and  lilac.  Luxury  that  elsewhere  would  move 
one  to  righteous  wrath  is  here  so  democratic  in  its  dis- 
play that  one  almost  condones  it.  The  gleaming  white 
villas,  with  carved  caryatides  or  sculptured  porches  of 
freestone  nymphs,  let  the  wayfarer  revel  as  he  goes  in 
the  riches  of  their  shrubberies  or  their  sunlit  fountains 
and  in  the  breezes  that  blow  over  their  perfumed 
parterres.  Nice  vulgar!  Pah,  my  friend,  if  you  say  so, 
I  know  well  why.  You  have  a  vulgar  soul  that  sees 
only  the  gewgaws  and  the  painted  ladies.  You  have 
never  strolled  up  by  yourself  from  the  noise  and  dust 
of  the  crowded  town  to  the  free  heights  of  the  Mont 
Alban  or  the  flowery  olive-grounds  of  the  Magnan 
valley.  You  have  never  hunted  for  purple  hellebore 
among  the  gorges  of  the  Paillon  or  picked  orchids  and 
irises  in  big  handfuls  upon  the  slopes  of  Saint  Andre. 
I  doubt  even  whether  you  have  once  turned  aside  for  a 
moment  from  the  gay  crowd  of  the  Casino  and  the 
Place  Massena  into  the  narrow  streets  of  the  Italian 
town;  communed  in  their  own  delicious  dialect  with  the 
free  fisherf oik  of  the  Limpia  quarter ;  or  looked  out  with 
joy  upon  the  tumbled  plain  of  mountain  heights  from 


144  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  breezy  level  of  the  Castle  platform.  Probably  you 
have  only  sat  for  days  in  the  balcony  of  your  hotel,  rolled 
at  your  ease  down  the  afternoon  Promenade,  worn  a 
false  nose  at  the  evening  parade  of  the  Carnival,  or  re- 
turned late  at  night  by  the  last  train  from  Monte  Carlo 
with  your  pocket  much  lighter  and  your  heart  much 
heavier  than  when  you  left  by  the  morning  express  in 
search  of  fortune.  And  then  you  say  Nice  is  vulgar! 
You  have  no  eyes,  it  seems,  for  sea,  or  shore,  or  sky,  or 
mountain ;  but  you  look  down  curiously  at  the  dust  in  the 
street,  and  you  mutter  to  yourself  that  you  find  it  unin- 
teresting. When  you  go  to  Nice  again,  walk  alone  up 
the  hills  to  Falicon,  returning  by  Le  Ray,  and  then  say, 
if  you  dare,  Nice  is  anything  on  earth  but  gloriously 
beautiful. 


VII 
THE  RIVIERA 

In  the  days  oi  the  Doges — Origin  of  the  name — The  blue  bay  of 
Cannes — Ste.  Marguerite  and  St.  Honorat — Historical  asso- 
ciations— The  Rue  L'Antibes — The  rock  of  Monaco — "  Notre 
Dame  de  la  Roulette " — From  Monte  Carlo  to  Mentone — 
San  Remo — A  romantic  railway. 

4C^^VH,  Land  of  Roses,  what  bulbul  shall  sing  of 
1  I  thee?"  In  plain  prose,  how  describe  the  gar- 
^--^  den  of  Europe  ?  The  Riviera !  Who  knows, 
save  he  who  has  been  there,  the  vague  sense  of  delight 
which  the  very  name  recalls  to  the  poor  winter  exile, 
banished  by  frost  and  cold  from  the  fogs  and  bronchitis 
of  more  northern  climes?  What  visions  of  gray  olives, 
shimmering  silvery  in  the  breeze  on  terraced  mountain 
slopes !  What  cataracts  of  Marshal  Niels,  falling  in  rich 
profusion  over  gray  limestone  walls !  What  aloes  and 
cactuses  on  what  sun-smitten  rocks !  What  picnics  in 
December  beneath  what  cloudless  blue  skies!  But  to 
those  who  know  and  appreciate  it  best,  the  Riviera  is 
something  more  than  mere  scenery  and  sunshine.  It  is 
life,  it  is  health,  it  is  strength,  it  is  rejuvenescence.  The 
return  to  it  in  autumn  is  as  the  renewal  of  youth.  Its 
very  faults  are  dear  to  us,  for  they  are  the  defects  of  its 
virtues.  We  can  put  up  with  its  dust  when  we  remem- 
ber that  dust  means  sun  and  dry  air;  we  can  forgive  its 

145 


146  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

staring  white  roads  when  we  reflect  to  ourselves  that 
they  depend  upon  almost  unfailing  fine  weather  and 
bright,  clear  skies,  when  northern  Europe  is  wrapped  in 
fog  and -cold  and  wretchedness. 

And  what  is  this  Riviera  that  we  feeble  folk  who 
"  winter  in  the  south  "  know  and  adore  so  well  ?  Has 
everybody  been  there,  or  may  one  venture  even  now  to 
paint  it  in  words  once  more  for  the  twentieth  time? 
Well,  after  all,  how  narrow  is  our  conception  of  "  every- 
body !  "  I  suppose  one  out  of  every  thousand  at  a  mod- 
erate estimate,  has  visited  that  smiling  coast  that  spreads 
its  entrancing  bays  between  Marseilles  and  Genoa;  my 
description  is,  therefore,  primarily  for  the  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  who  have  not  been  there.  And  even  the 
thousandth  himself,  if  he  knows  his  Cannes  and  his  Men- 
tone  well,  will  not  grudge  me  a  reminiscence  of  those  de- 
licious gulfs  and  those  charming  headlands  that  must  be 
indelibly  photographed  on  his  memory. 

The  name  Riviera  is  now  practically  English.  But  in 
origin  it  is  Genoese.  To  those  seafaring  folk,  in  the  days 
of  the  Doges,  the  coasts  to  east  and  west  of  their  own 
princely  city  were  known,  naturally  enough,  as  the 
Riviera  di  Levante  and  the  Riviera  di  Ponente  respec- 
tively, the  shores  of  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun.  But 
on  English  lips  the  qualifying  clause  "  di  Ponente  "  has 
gradually  in  usage  dropped  out  altogether,  and  we  speak 
nowadays  of  this  favored  winter  resort,  by  a  some- 
what illogical  clipping,  simply  as  "  the  Riviera."  In  our 
modern  and  specially  English  sense,  then,  the  Riviera 
means  the  long  and  fertile  strip  of  coast  between  the 
arid  mountains  and  the  Ligurian  Sea,  beginning  at  St. 
Raphael  and  ending  at  Genoa.  Hyeres,  it  is  true,  is  com- 
monly reckoned  of  late  among  Riviera  towns,  but  by 


ANTIBES  147 

courtesy  only.  It  lies,  strictly  speaking,  outside  the 
charmed  circle.  One  may  say  that  the  Riviera,  properly 
so  called,  has  its  origin  where  the  Esterel  abuts  upon  the 
Gulf  of  Frejus,  and  extends  as  far  as  the  outliers  of  the 
Alps  skirt  the  Italian  shore  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Now,  the  Riviera  is  just  the  point  where  the  greatest 
central  mountain  system  of  all  Europe  topples  over  most 
directly  into  the  warmest  sea.  And  its  best-known  re- 
sorts, Nice,  Monte  Carlo,  Mentone,  occupy  the  precise 
place  where  the  very  axis  of  the  ridge  abuts  at  last  on  the 
shallow  and  basking  Mediterranean.  They  are  there-* 
fore  as  favorably  situated  with  regard  to  the  mountain 
wall  as  Pallanza  or  Riva,  with  the  further  advantage  of 
a  more  southern  position  and  of  a  neighboring  extent 
of  sunny  sea  to  warm  them.  The  Maritime  Alps  cut  off 
all  northerly  winds;  while  the  hot  air  of  the  desert, 
tempered  by  passing  over  a  wide  expanse  of  Mediterra- 
nean waves,  arrives  on  the  coast  as  a  delicious  breeze, 
no  longer  dry  and  relaxing,  but  at  once  genial  and  re- 
freshing. Add  to  these  varied  advantages  the  dryness 
of  climate  due  to  an  essentially  continental  position  (for 
the  Mediterranean  is  after  all  a  mere  inland  salt  lake), 
and  it  is  no  wonder  we  all  swear  by  the  Riviera  as  the 
fairest  and  most  pleasant  of  winter  resorts.  My  own 
opinion  remains  always  unshaken,  that  Antibes,  for  cli- 
mate, may  fairly  claim  to  rank  as  the  best  spot  in  Europe 
or  round  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 

Not  that  I  am  by  any  means  a  bigoted  Antipolitan.  I 
have  tried  every  other  nook  and  cranny  along  that  de- 
lightful coast,  from  Carqueyranne  to  Cornigliano.  and  I 
will  allow  that  every  one  of  them  has  for  certain  purposes 
its  own  special  advantages.  All,  all  are  charming.  In- 
deed, the  Riviera  is  to  my  mind  one  long  feast  of  de- 


148  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

lights.  From  the  moment  the  railway  strikes  the  sea 
near  Frejus  the  traveller  feels  he  can  only  do  justice  to 
the  scenery  on  either  side  by  looking  both  ways  at  once, 
and  so  "  contracting  a  squint,"  like  a  sausage-seller  in 
Aristophanes.  Those  glorious  peaks  of  the  Esterel  alone 
would  encourage  the  most  prosaic  to  "  drop  into  poetry, ' 
as  readily  as  Mr.  Silas  Wegg  himself  in  the  mansion 
of  the  Boffins.  Kow  am  I  to  describe  them,  those  rear- 
ing masses  of  rock,  huge  tors  of  red  porphyry,  rising 
sheer  into  the  air  with  their  roseate  crags  from  a  deep 
<green  base  of  Mediterranean  pinewood?  When  the  sun 
strikes  their  sides,  they  glow  like  fire.  There  they  lie 
in  their  beauty,  like  a  huge  rock  pushed  out  into  the  sea, 
the  advance-guard  of  the  Alps,  unbroken  save  by  the  one 
high-road  that  runs  boldly  through  their  unpeopled  midst, 
and  by  the  timider  railway  that,  fearing  to  tunnel  their 
solid  porphyry  depths,  winds  cautiously  round  their  base 
by  the  craggy  sea-shore,  and  so  gives  us  as  we  pass  end- 
less lovely  glimpses  into  sapphire  bays  with  red  cliffs 
and  rocky  lighthouse-crowned  islets.  On  the  whole,  1 
consider  the  Esterel,  as  scenery  alone,  the  loveliest  "  bit  " 
on  the  whole  Riviera ;  though  wanting  in  human  addi- 
tions, as  nature  it  is  the  best,  the  most  varied  in  outline, 
the  most  vivid  in  coloring. 

Turning  the  corner  by  Agay,  you  come  suddenly,  all 
unawares,  on  the  blue  bay  of  Cannes,  or  rather  on  the 
Golfe  de  la  Napoule,  whose  very  name  betrays  unin- 
tentionally the  intense  newness  and  unexpectedness  of  all 
this  populous  coast,  this  "  little  England  beyond  France  " 
that  has  grown  up  apace  round  Lord  Brougham's  villa  on 
the  shore  by  the  mouth  of  the  Siagne.  For  when  the 
bay  beside  the  Esterel  received  its  present  name,  La  Na- 
poule, not  Cannes,  was  still  the  principal  village  on  its 


ILES  LERINS  149 

b'ank.  Nowadays,  people  drive  over  on  a  spare  afternoon 
from  the  crowded  fashionable  town  to  the  slumbrous 
little  hamlet;  but  in  older  days  La  Napoule  was  a  busy 
local  market  when  Cannes  was  nothing  more  than  a  petty 
hamlet  of  Provencal  fishermen. 

The  Golfe  de  la  Napoule  ends  at  the  Croisette  of 
Cannes,  a  long,  low  promontory  carried  out  into  the  sea 
by  a  submarine  bank,  whose  farthest  points  re-emerge  as 
the  two  lies  Lerins,  Ste.  Marguerite  and  St.  Honorat. 
Their  names  are  famous  in  history.  A  little  steamer 
plies  from  Cannes  to  "  the  Islands,"  as  everybody  calls 
them  locally;  and  the  trip,  in  calm  weather,  if  the  Alps 
are  pleased  to  shine  out,  is  a  pleasant  and  instructive 
one.  Ste.  Marguerite  lies  somewhat  the  nearer  .of  the 
two,  a  pretty  little  islet,  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of 
maritime  pines,  and  celebrated  as  the  prison  of  that  mys- 
terious being,  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,  who  has 
given  rise  to  so  much  foolish  and  fruitless  speculation. 
Near  the  landing-place  stands  the  Fort,  perched  on  a  high 
cliff  and  looking  across  to  the  Croisette.  Uninteresting 
in  itself,  this  old  fortification  is  much  visited  by  wonder- 
loving  tourists  for  the  sake  of  its  famous  prisoner,  whose 
memory  still  haunts  the  narrow  terrace  corridor,  where 
he  paced  up  and  down  for  seventeen  years  of  unrelieved 
captivity. 

St.  Honorat  stands  farther  out  to  sea  than  its  sister 
island,  and,  though  lower  and  flatter,  is  in  some  ways 
more  picturesque,  in  virtue  of  its  massive  mediaeval 
monastery  and  its  historical  associations.  In  the  early 
middle  ages,  when  communications  were  still  largely 
carried  on  by  water,  the  convent  of  the  lies  Lerins  en- 
joyed much  reputation  as  a  favorite  stopping-place,  one 
might  almost  say  hotel,  for  pilgrims  to  or  from  Rome; 


150  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

and  most  of  the  early  British  Christians  in  their  con- 
tinental wanderings  found  shelter  at  one  time  or  another 
under  its  hospitable  roof.  St.  Augustine  stopped  here  on 
his  way  to  Canterbury;  St.  Patrick  took  the  convent  on 
his  road  from  Ireland;  Salvian  wrote  within  its  walls  his 
dismal  jeremiad;  Vincent  de  Lerins  composed  in  it  his 
"  Pilgrim's  Guide."  The  somber  vaults  of  the  ancient 
cloister  still  bear  witness  by  their  astonishingly  thick 
and  solid  masonry  to  their  double  use  as  monastery  and 
as  place  of  refuge  from  the  "  Saracens,"  the  Barbary 
corsairs  of  the  ninth,  tenth,  and  eleventh  centuries.  In- 
deed, Paynim  fleets  plundered  the  place  more  than  once, 
and  massacred  the  monks  in  cold  blood. 

Of  Cannes  itself,  marvelous  product  of  this  gad-about 
and  commercial  age,  how  shall  the  truthful  chronicler 
speak  with  becoming  respect  and  becoming  dignity?  For 
Cannes  has  its  faults.  Truly  a  wonderful  place  is  that 
cosmopolitan  winter  resort.  Rococo  chateaux,  glorious 
gardens  of  palm-trees,  imitation  Moorish  villas,  wooden 
chalets  from  the  scene-painter's  ideal  Switzerland,  Eliza- 
bethan mansions  stuck  in  Italian  grounds,  lovely  groves 
of  mimosa,  eucalyptus,  and  judas-trees,  all  mingle  to- 
gether in  so  strange  and  incongruous  a  picture  that  one 
knows  not  when  to  laugh,  when  to  weep,  when  to  ad- 
mire, when  to  cry  "  Out  on  it !  "  Imagine  a  conglomer- 
ation of  two  or  three  white-faced  Parisian  streets,  inter- 
spersed with  little  bits  of  England,  of  Brussels,  of  Al- 
giers, of  Constantinople,  of  Pekin,  of  Bern,  of  Nurem- 
berg and  of  Venice,  jumbled  side  by  side  on  a  green  Pro- 
ven^al  hillside  before  a  beautiful  bay,  and  you  get  mod- 
ern Cannes;  a  Babel  set  in  Paradise;  a  sort  of  boulevar- 
dier  Bond  Street,  with  a  view  across  blue  waves  to  the 
serrated  peaks  of  the  ever  lovely  EstereL  Nay ;  try  as  it 


CANNES  151 

will,  Cannes  cannot  help  being  beautiful.  Nature  has 
done  so  much  for  it  that  art  itself,  the  debased  French 
art  of  the  Empire  and  the  Republic,  can  never  for  one 
moment  succeed  in  making  it  ugly ;  though  I  am  bound 
to  admit  it  has  striven  as  hard  as  it  knew  for  that  laudable 
object.  But  Cannes  is  Cannes  still,  in  spite  of  Grand 
Dukes  and  landscape  gardeners  and  architects.  And  the 
Old  Town,  at  least,  is  yet  wholly  unspoilt  by  the  specu- 
lative builder.  Almost  every  Riviera  watering-place  has 
such  an  old-world  nucleus  or  kernel  of  its  own,  the  quaint 
fisher  village  of  ancient  days,  round  which  the  meretri- 
cious modern  villas  have  clustered,  one  by  one,  in  irregu- 
lar succession.  At  Cannes  the  Old  Town  is  even  more 
conspicuous  than  elsewhere ;  for  it  clambers  up  the  steep 
sides  of  a  little  seaward  hillock,  crowned  by  the  tower  of 
an  eleventh  century  church,  arid  is  as  picturesque,  as 
gray,  as  dirty,  as  most  other  haunts  of  the  hardy  Pro- 
vengal  fisherman.  Strange,  too,  to  see  how  the  two 
streams  of  life  flow  on  ever,  side  by  side,  yet  ever  un- 
mingled.  The  Cannes  of  the  fishermen  is  to  this  day  as 
unvaried  as  if  the  new  cosmopolitan  winter  resort  had 
never  grown  up,  with  its  Anglo-Russian  airs  and  graces, 
its  German-American  frivolities,  round  that  unpromising 
center. 

The  Rue  d'Antibes  is  the  principal  shopping  street  of 
the  newer  and  richer  Cannes.  If  we  follow  it  out  into  the 
country  by  its  straight  French  boulevard  it  leads  us  at 
last  to  the  funny  old  border  city  from  which  it  still  takes 
its  unpretending  name.  Antibes  itself  belongs  to  that 
very  first  crop  of  civilized  Provengal  towns  which  owe 
their  origin  to  the  sturdy  old  Phocsean  colonists.  It  is  a 
Greek  city  by  descent,  the  Antipolis  which  faced  and  de- 
fended the  harbor  of  Nicaea;  and  for  picturesqueness 


152  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

and  beauty  it  has  not  its  equal  on  the  whole  picturesque 
and  beautiful  Riviera.  Everybody  who  has  travelled  by 
the  "  Paris,  Lyon,  Mediterranee  "  knows  well  the  ex- 
quisite view  of  the  mole  and  harbor  as  seen  in  passing 
from  the  railway.  But  that  charming  glimpse,  quaint  and 
varied  as  it  is,  gives  by  no  means  a  full  idea  of  the  ancient 
Phocaean  city.  The  town  stands  still  surrounded  by  its 
bristling  fortification,  the  work  of  Vauban,  pierced  by 
narrow  gates  in  their  thickness,  and  topped  with  noble 
ramparts.  The  Fort  Carre  that  crowns  the  seaward  pro- 
montory, the  rocky  islets,  and  the  two  stone  breakwaters 
of  the  port  (a  small-scale  Genoa),  all  add  to  the  strik- 
ing effect  of  the  situation  and  prospect.  Within,  the 
place  is  as  quaint  and  curious  as  without :  a  labyrinth  of 
narrow  streets,  poor  in  memorials  of  Antipolis,  but  rich 
in  Roman  remains,  including  that  famous  and  pathetic 
inscription  to  the  boy  Septentrio,  QVI  ANTIPOLI  IN  THEA- 
TRO  BIDVO  SALTAVIT  ET  PLACVIT.  The  last  three '  words 
borrowed  from  this  provincial  tombstone,  have  become 
proverbial  of  the  short-lived  glory  of  the  actor's  art. 

The  general  aspect  of  Antibes  town,  however,  is  at 
present  mediaeval,  or  even  seventeenth  century.  A  fla- 
vor as  of  Louis  Quatorz  pervades  the  whole  city,  with 
its  obtrusive  military  air  of  a  border  fortress ;  for,  of 
course,  while  the  Var  still  formed  the  frontier  between 
France  and  Italy,  Antibes  ranked  necessarily  as  a  stra- 
tegic post  of  immense  importance ;  and  at  the  present 
day,  in  our  new  recrudescence  of  military  barbarism,  great 
barracks  surround  the  fortifications  with  fresh  white- 
washed walls,  and  the  "  Hun !  Deusse !  "  of  the  noisy 
French  drill-sergeant  resounds  all  day  long  from  the  ex- 
ercise-ground by  the  railway  station.  Antibes  itself  is 
therefore  by  no  means  a  place  to  stop  at;  it  is  the  Cap 


MONACO    AND    MONTE    CARLO       153 

d'Antibes  close  by  that  attracts  now  every  year  an  increas- 
ing influx  of  peaceful  and  cultivated  visitors.  The  walks 
and  drives  are  charming;  the  pine-woods,  carpeted  with 
wild  anemones,  are  a  dream  of  delight ;  and  the  view 
from  the  Lighthouse  Hill  behind  the  town  is  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  varied  on  the  whole  round  Mediter- 
ranean. 

But  I  must  not  linger  here  over  the  beauties  of  the  Cap 
d'Antibes,  but  must  be  pushing  onwards  towards  Mona- 
co and  Monte  Carlo. 

It  is  a  wonderful  spot,  this  little  principality  of  Mo- 
naco, hemmed  in  between  the  high  mountains  and 
assailing  sea,  and  long  hermetically  cut  off  from  all  its 
more  powerful  and  commercial  neighbors.  Between  the 
palm-lined  boulevards  of  Nice  and  the  grand  amphi- 
theater of  mountains  that  shuts  in  Mentone  as  with  a 
perfect  semicircle  of  rearing  peaks,  one  rugged  buttress, 
the  last  long  subsiding  spur  of  the  great  Alpine  axis,  runs 
boldly  out  to  seaward,  and  ends  in  the  bluff  rocky  head- 
land of  the  Tete  de  Chien  that  overhangs  Monte  Carlo. 
Till  very  lately  no  road  ever  succeeded  in  turning  the 
foot  of  that  precipitous  promontory :  the  famous  Corniche 
route  runs  along  a  ledge  high  up  its  beetling  side,  past  the 
massive  Roman  ruin  of  Turbia,  and  looks  down  from  a 
height  of  fifteen  hundred  feet  upon  the  palace  of  Mona- 
co. This  mountain  bulwark  of  the  Turbia  long  formed 
the  real  boundary  line  between  ancient  Gaul  and  Liguria ; 
and  on  its  very  summit,  where  the  narrow  Roman  road 
wound  along  the  steep  pass  now  widened  into  the  mag- 
nificent highway  of  the  Corniche,  Augustus  built  a  solid 
square  monument  to  mark  the  limit  between  the  Prov- 
ince and  the  Italian  soil,  as  well  as  to  overawe  the 
mountaineers  of  this  turbulent  region.  A  round  me- 


154  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

diaeval  tower,  at  present  likewise  in  ruins,  crowns  the 
Roman  work.  Here  the  Alps  end  abruptly.  The  rock 
of  Monaco  at  the  base  is  their  last  ineffectual  seaward 
protest. 

And  what  a  rock  it  is,  that  quaint  ridge  of  land, 
crowned  by  the  strange  capital  of  that  miniature  princi- 
pality! Figure  to  yourself  a  huge  whale  petrified,  as  he 
basks  there  on  the  shoals  his  back  rising  some  two 
hundred  feet  from  the  water's  edge,  his  head  to  the  sea, 
and  his  tail  just  touching  the  mainland,  and  you  have 
a  rough  mental  picture  of  the  Rock  of  Monaco.  It  is, 
in  fact,  an  isolated  hillock,  jutting  into  the  Mediterranean 
at  the  foot  of  the  Maritime  Alps  (a  final  reminder,  as 
it  were,  of  their  dying  dignity),  and  united  to  the  Under- 
cliff  only  by  a  narrow  isthmus  at  the  foot  of  the  crag 
which  bears  the  mediaeval  bastions  of  the  Prince's  palace. 
As  you  look  down  on  it  from  above  from  the  heights  of 
the  Corniche,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  it  forms  the 
most  picturesque  town  site  in  all  Europe.  On  every  side, 
save  seaward,  huge  mountains  gird  it  round ;  while 
towards  the  smiling  blue  Mediterranean  itself  the  great 
rock  runs  outward,  bathed  by  tiny  white  breakers  in 
every  part,  except  where  the  low  isthmus  links  it  to  the 
shore;  and  with  a  good  field-glass  you  can  see  down 
in  a  bird's  eye  view  into  every  street  and  courtyard  of 
the  clean  little  capital.  The  red-tiled  houses,  the  white 
palace  with  its  orderly  gardens  and  quadrangles,  the 
round  lunettes  of  the  old  wall,  the  steep  cobbled  mule- 
path  which  mounts  the  rock  from  the  modern  railway- 
station,  all  lie  spread  out  before  one  like  a  pictorial  map, 
painted  in  the  bright  blue  of  Mediterranean  seas,  the 
dazzling  gray  of  Mediterranean  sunshine,  and  the  bril- 
liant russet  of  Mediterranean  roofs. 


THE    CASINO  155 

There  can  be  no  question  at  all  that  Monte  Carlo  even 
now,  with  all  its  gew-gaw  additions,  is  very  beautiful : 
no  Haussmann  could  spoil  so  much  loveliness  of  posi- 
tion ;  and  even  the  new  town  itself,  which  grows  apace 
each  time  I  revisit  it,  has  a  picturesqueness  of  hardy 
arch,  bold  rock,  well-perched  villa,  which  redeems  it  to 
a  great  extent  from  any  rash  charge  of  common  vul- 
garity. All  looks  like  a  scene  in  a  theater,  not  like  a 
prosaic  bit  of  this  work-a-day  world  of  ours.  Around 
us  is  the  blue  Mediterranean,  broken  into  a  hundred  petty 
sapphire  bays.  Back  of  us  rise  tier  after  tier  of  Maritime 
Alps,  their  huge  summits  clouded  in  a  fleecy  mist.  To 
the  left  stands  the  white  rock  of  Monaco ;  to  the  right, 
the  green  Italian  shore,  fading  away  into  the  purple 
mountains  that  guard  the  Gulf  of  Genoa.  Lovely  by 
nature,  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  the  Casino  has 
been  made  in  some  ways  still  more  lovely  by  art.  From 
the  water's  edge,  terraces  of  tropical  vegetation  succeed 
one  another  in  gradual  steps  towards  the  grand  fagade 
of  the  gambling-house ;  clusters  of  palms  and  aloes,  their 
base  girt  by  exotic  flowers,  are  thrust  cunningly  into  the 
foreground  of  every  point  in  the  view,  so  that  you  see 
the  bay  and  the  mountains  through  the  artistic  vistas 
thus  deftly  arranged  in  the  very  spots  where  a  painter's 
fancy  would  have  set  them.  You  look  across  to  Monaco 
past  a  clump  of  drooping  date-branches ;  you  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Bordighera  through  a  framework  of  spread- 
ing dracsenas  and  quaintly  symmetrical  fan-palms. 

Once  more  under  way,  and  this  time  on  foot.  For 
the  road  from  Monte  Carlo  to  Mentone  is  almost  as 
lovely  in  its  way  as  that  from  Nice  to  Monte  Carlo.  It 
runs  at  first  among  the  ever-increasing  villas  and  hotels 
of  the  capital  of  Chance,  and  past  that  sumptuous 


156  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

church,  built  from  the  gains  of  the  table,  which  native 
wit  has  not  inaptly  chistened  "  Notre  Dame  de  la  Rou- 
lette/1 There  is  one  point  of  view  of  Monaco  and  its 
bay,  on  the  slopes  of  the  Cap  Martin,  not  far  from  Roque- 
brune,  so  beautiful  that  though  I  have  seen  it,  I  sup- 
pose, a  hundred  times  or  more,  I  can  never  come  upon  it 
to  this  day  without  giving  vent  to  an  involuntary  cry 
of  surprise  and  admiration. 

Roquebrune  itself,  which  was  an  Italian  Roccabruna 
when  I  first  knew  it,  has  a  quaint  situation  of  its  own, 
and  a  quaint  story  connected  with  it.  Brown  as  its  own 
rocks,  the  tumbled  little  village  stands  oddly  jumbled  in 
and  out  among  huge  masses  of  pudding-stone,  which 
must  have  fallen  at  some  time  or  other  in  headlong  con- 
fusion from  the  scarred  face  of  the  neighboring  hill- 
side. From  the  Corniche  road  it  is  still  quite  easy  to 
recognize  the  bare  patch  on  the  mountain  slope  whence 
the  landslip  detached  itself,  and  to  trace  its  path  down 
the  hill  to  its  existing  position.  But  local  legend  goes  a 
little  farther  than  that :  it  asks  us  to  believe  that  the  rock 
fell  as  we  see  it  with  the  houses  on  top;  in  other  words, 
that  the  village  was  built  before  the  catastrophe  took 
place,  and  that  it  glided  down  piecemeal  into  the  tossed- 
about  form  it  at  present  presents  to  us.  Be  this  as  it 
may,  and  the  story  makes  some  demand  on  the  hearer's 
credulity,  it  is  certain  that  the  houses  now  occupy  most 
picturesque  positions :  here  perched  by  twos  and  threes 
on  broken  masses  of  conglomerate,  there  wedged  in  be- 
tween two  great  walls  of  beetling  cliff,  and  yonder  again 
hanging  for  dear  life  to  some  slender  foothold  on  the 
precipitous  hillside. 

We  reach  the  summit  of  the  pass.  The  Bay  of  Monaco 
is  separated  from  the  Bay  of  Mentone  by  the  long,  low- 


MENTONE  157 

headland  of  Cap  Martin,  covered  with  olive  groves  and 
scrubby  maritime  pines.  As  one  turns  the  corner  from 
Roquebrune  by  the  col  round  the  cliff,  there  bursts  sud- 
denly upon  the  view  one  of  the  loveliest  prospects  to  be 
beheld  from  the  Corniche.  At  our  feet,  embowered 
among  green  lemons  and  orange  trees,  Mentone  half 
hides  itself  behind  its  villas  and  its  gardens.  In  the 
middle  distance  the  old  church  with  its  tall  Italian  cam- 
panile stands  out  against  the  blue  peaks  of  that  magnifi- 
cent amphitheater.  Beyond,  again,  a  narrow  gorge  marks 
the  site  of  the  Pont  St.  Louis  and  the  Italian  frontier. 
Farther  eastward  the  red  rocks  merge  half  indistinctly 
into  the  point  of  La  Mortola,  with  Mr.  Hanbury's 
famous  garden ;  then  come  the  cliffs  and  fortifications  of 
Ventimiglia,  gleaming  white  in  the  sun ;  and  last  of  all, 
the  purple  hills  that  hem  in  San  Remo.  It  is  an  appro- 
priate approach  to  a  most  lovely  spot ;  for  Mentone 
ranks  high  for  beauty,  even  among  her  bevy  of  fair 
sisters  on  the  Ligurian  sea-board. 

Yes,  Mentone  is  beautiful,  most  undeniably  beautiful; 
and  for  walks  and  drives  perhaps  it  may  bear  away  the 
palm  from  all  rivals  on  that  enchanted  and  enchanting 
Riviera.  Five  separate  valleys,  each  carved  out  by  its 
own  torrent,  with  dry  winter  bed,  converge  upon  the  sea 
within  the  town  precincts.  Four  principal  rocky  ridges 
divide  these  valleys  with  their  chine-like  backbone,  be- 
sides numberless  minor  spurs  branching  laterally  inland. 
Each  valley  is  threaded  by  a  well-made  carriage-road, 
and  each  dividing  ridge  is  climbed  by  a  bridle-path  and 
footway.  The  consequence  is  that  the  walks  and  drives 
at  Mentone  are  never  exhausted,  and  excursions  among 
the  hills  might  occupy  the  industrious  pedestrian  for 
many  successive  winters.  What  hills  they  are,  too,  those 


158  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

great  bare  needles  and  pinnacles  of  rock,  worn  into 
jagged  peaks  and  points  by  the  ceaseless  rain  of  ages, 
and  looking  down  from  their  inaccessible  tops  with  glit- 
tering scorn  upon  the  green  lemon  groves  beneath  them ! 

The  next  town  on  the  line,  Bordighera,  is  better  known 
to  the  world  at  large  as  a  Rivieran  winter  resort,  though 
of  a  milder  and  quieter  type,  I  do  not  say  than  Nice 
or  Cannes,  but  than  Mentone  or  San  Remo.  Bordighera, 
indeed,  has  just  reached  that  pleasant  intermediate  stage 
in  the  evolution  of  a  Rivieran  watering-place  when  all 
positive  needs  of  the  northern  stranger  are  amply  sup- 
plied, while  crowds  and  fashionable  amusements  have 
not  yet  begun  to  invade  its  primitive  simplicity.  The 
walks  and  drives  on  every  side  are  charming;  the  hotels 
are  comfortable,  and  the  prices  are  still  by  no  means 
prohibitive. 

San  Remo  comes  next  in  order  of  the  cosmopolitan 
winter  resorts :  San  Remo,  thickly  strewn  with  spectacled 
Germans,  like  leaves  in  Vallombrosa,  since  the  Emperor 
Frederick  chose  the  place  for  his  last  despairing  rally. 
The  Teuton  finds  himself  more  at  home,  indeed,  across 
the  friendly  Italian  border  than  in  hostile  France ;  and  the 
St.  Gotthard  gives  him  easy  access  by  a  pleasant  route 
to  these  nearer  Ligurian  towns,  so  that  the  Fatherland 
has  now  almost  annexed  San  Remo,  as  England  has 
annexed  Cannes,  and  America  Nice  and  Cimiez.  Built 
in  the  evil  -days  of  the  Middle  Ages,  when  every  house 
was  a  fortress  and  every  breeze  bore  a  Saracen,  San 
Remo  presents  to-day  a  picturesque  labyrinth  of  streets, 
lanes,  vaults,  and  alleys,  only  to  be  surpassed  in  the 
quaint  neighboring  village  of  Taggia.  This  is  the  heart 
of  the  earthquake  region,  too ;  and  to  protect  themselves 
against  that  frequent  and  unwelcome  visitor,  whose  mark 


SAN    REMO  159 

may  be  seen  on  half  the  walls  in  the  outskirts,  the  in- 
habitants of  San  Remo  have  strengthened  their  houses 
by  a  system  of  arches  thrown  at  varying  heights  across 
the  tangled  paths,  which  recalls  Algiers  or  Tunis.  From 
certain  points  of  view,  and  especially  from  the  east  side, 
San  Remo  thus  resembles  a  huge  pyramid  of  solid  ma- 
sonry, or  a  monstrous  pagoda  hewn  out  by  giant  hands 
from  a  block  of  white  free-stone.  As  Dickens  well 
worded  it,  one  seems  to  pass  through  the  town  by  going 
perpetually  from  cellar  to  cellar.  A  romantic  railway 
skirts  the  coast  from  San  Remo  to  Alassio  and  Savona. 
It  forms  one  long  succession  of  tunnels,  interspersed  with 
frequent  breathing  spaces  beside  lovely  bays,  "  the  pea- 
cock's neck  in  hue,"  as  the  Laureate  sings  of  them.  One 
town  after  another  sweeps  gradually  into  view  round 
the  corner  of  a  promontory,  a  white  mass  of  houses 
crowning  some  steep  point  of  rock,  of  which  Alassio 
alone  has  as  yet  any  pretensions  to  be  considered  a  home 
for  northern  visitors. 


VIII 

.' 

GENOA 

Early  history — Old  fortifications — The  rival  of  Venice — 
Changes  of  twenty-five  years — From  the  parapet  of  the 
Corso — The  lower  town — The  Genoese  palazzi — Monu- 
ment to  Christopher  Columbus — The  old  Dogana — Memo- 
rials in  the  Campo  Santo — The  Bay  of  Spezzia — The  Isola 
Palmeria — Harbor  scenes. 

/ 

ENOVA  LA  SUPERBA— Genoa  the  Proud— 
an  epithet  not  inappropriate  for  this  city  of 
merchant  princes  of  olden  days,  which  was  once 
the  emporium  of  the  Tyrrhenian,  as  was  Venice  of  the 
Adriatic  sea,  and  the  rival  of  the  latter  for  the  com- 
merce of  the  Eastern  Mediterranean.  No  two  cities, 
adapted  to  play  a  similar  part  in  history,  could  be  more 
unlike  in  their  natural  environments :  Venice  clustered 
on  a  series  of  mud  banks,  parted  by  an  expanse  of  water 
from  a  low  coast-line,  beyond  which  the  far-away  moun- 
tains rise  dimly  in  the  distance,  a  fleet,  as  it  were,  of 
houses  anchored  in  the  shallows  of  the  Adriatic ;  Genoa 
stretching  along  the  shore  by  the  deepening  water,  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  Apennines,  climbing  up  their  slopes,  and 
crowning  their  lower  summits  with  its  watch-towers.  No 
seaport  in  Italy  possesses  a  site  so  rich  in  natural  beauty, 
not  even  Spezzia  in  its  bay,  for  though  the  scenery  in  the 
neighborhood  certainly  surpasses  that  around  Genoa, 
the  town  itself  is  built  upon  an  almost  level  plain ;  not 

160 


LIGURIA  161 

even  Naples  itself,  notwithstanding  the  magnificent  sweep 
of  its  bay,  dominated  by  the  volcanic  cone  of  Vesuvius, 
and  bounded  by  the  limestone  crags  of  the  range  of  Monte 
S.  Angelo.  Genoa,  however,  like  all  places  and  persons, 
has  had  its  detractors.  Perhaps  of  no  town  has  a  more 
bitter  sarcasm  been  uttered,  than  the  well  known  one, 
which  no  doubt  originated  in  the  mouth  of  some  envious 
Tuscan,  when  the  two  peoples  were  contending  for  the 
mastery  of  the  western  sea,  and  the  maker  of  the  epigram 
was  on  the  losing  side.  Familiar  as  it  is  to  many,  we 
will  venture  to  quote  it  again,  as  it  may  be  rendered  in 
our  own  tongue :  "  Treeless  hills,  a  fishless  sea,  faithless 
men,  shameless  women."  As  to  the  reproach  in  the  first 
clause,  one  must  admit  there  is  still  some  truth ;  and  in 
olden  days,  when  gardens  were  fewer  and  more  land  was 
left  in  its  natural  condition,  there  may  have  been  even 
more  point.  The  hills  around  Genoa  undoubtedly  seem 
a  little  barren,  when  compared  with  those  on  the  Riviera 
some  miles  farther  to  the  south,  with  their  extraordinary 
luxuriance  of  vegetation,  their  endless  slopes  of  olives, 
which  only  cease  to  give  place  to  oak  and  pine  and  myrtle. 
There  is  also,  I  believe,  some  truth  in  the  second  clause ; 
but  as  to  the  rest  it  is  not  for  a  comparative  stranger 
to  express  an  opinion.  So  far  however  as  the  men  are 
concerned  the  reproach  is  not  novel.  Centuries  since, 
Liguria,  of  which  Genoa  is  the  principal  town,  was  noted 
for  the  cunning  and  treacherous  disposition  of  its  peo- 
ple, who  ethnologically  differ  considerably  from  their 
neighbors.  In  Virgil's  "  /Eneid  "  a  Ligurian  chief  shows 
more  cunning  than  courage  in  a  fight  with  an  Amazon,' 
and  is  thus  apostrophized  before  receiving  his  death-blow 
from  a  woman's  hand :  "  In  vain,  O  shifty  one,  hast  thou 
tried  thy  hereditary  craft."  The  people  of  this  part  of 


1 62  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

Italy  form  one  of  a  series  of  ethnological  islands ;  where 
a  remnant,  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  of  an  earlier 
race  has  survived  the  invading  flood  of  a  stronger  people. 
This  old-world  race — commonly  called  the  Iberian — is 
characteristically  short  in  stature,  dark  in  hair,  eyes,  and 
complexion.  Representatives  of  it  survive  in  Brittany, 
Wales,  Ireland,  the  Basque  Provinces,  and  other  out-of- 
the-way  corners  of  Europe ;  insulated  or  pressed  back,  till 
they  could  no  farther  go,  by  the  advance  of  the  Aryan 
race,  by  some  or  other  representative  of  which  Europe 
is  now  peopled.  On  the  Ligurian  coast,  however,  as 
might  be  expected,  in  the  track  of  two  thousand  years 
of  commerce  and  civilization,  the  races,  however  different 
in  origin  and  formerly  naturally  hostile,  have  been  almost 
fused  together  by  intermarriage ;  and  this,  at  any  rate 
in  Genoa,  seems  to  have  had  a  fortuitous  result  in  the 
production  of  an  exceptionally  good-looking  people,  espe- 
cially in  the  case  of  the  younger  women.  I  well  remember 
some  years  since,  when  driving  out  on  a  summer  evening 
on  the  western  side  of  Genoa,  to  have  passed  crowds  of 
women,  most  of  them  young,  returning  from  work  in 
the  factories,  and  certainly  I  never  saw  so  large  a  pro- 
portion qf  beautiful  faces  as  there  were  among  them. 

Genoa  for  at  least  two  thousand  years  has  been  an 
important  center  of  commerce ;  though,  of  course,  like 
most  other  places,  it  has  not  been  uniformly  prosperous. 
It  fell  under  the  Roman  power  about  two  centuries  be- 
fore the  Christian  era,  the  possession  of  it  for  a  time 
being  disputed  with  the  Carthaginians ;  then  it  became 
'noted  as  a  seaport  town  for  the  commerce  of  the  western 
part  of  the  Mediterranean,  it  declined  and  suffered  dur- 
ing the  decadence  and  fall  of  the  Empire,  and  then  grad- 
ually rose  into  eminence  during  the  Middle  Ages.  Even 


EARLY    HISTORY  163 

in  the  tenth  century  Genoa  was  an  important  community ; 
its  citizens,  as  beseemed  men  who  were  hardy  sailors, 
found  a  natural  pleasure  in  any  kind  of  disturbance ;  they 
joined  in  the  Crusades,  and  turned  religious  enthusiasm 
to  commercial  profit  by  the  acquisition  of  various  towns 
and  islands  in  the  East.  The  rather  unusual  combination 
of  warrior  and  merchant,  which  the  Genoese  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages  present,  is  no  doubt  due  not  only  to  social  char- 
acter, but  also  to  exceptional  circumstances.  "  The  con- 
stant invasions  of  the  Saracens  united  the  professions  of 
trade  and  war,  and  its  greatest  merchants  became  also  its 
greatest  generals,  while  its  naval  captains  were  also 
merchants." 

Genoa,  as  may  be  supposed,  had  from  the  first  to  con- 
tend with  two  formidable  rivals :  the  one  being  Pisa  in 
its  own  waters;  the  other  Venice,  whose  citizens  were 
equally  anxious  for  supremacy  in  the  Levant  and  the 
commerce  of  the  East.  With  both  these  places  the 
struggle  was  long  and  fierce,  but  the  fortune  of  war  on 
the  whole  was  distinctly  favorable  to  Genoa  nearer  home, 
and  unfavorable  in  regard  to  the  more  distant  foe.  Pisa 
was  finally  defeated  in  the  neighborhood  of  Leghorn,  and 
in  the  year  1300  had  to  cede  to  her  enemy  a  considerable 
amount  of  territory,  including  the  island  of  Corsica ; 
while  Venice,  after  more  than  a  century  of  conflict  with 
very  varying  fortune,  at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  the 
supremacy  in  the  Eastern  Mediterranean. 

The  internal  history  of  the  city  during  all  this  period 
was  not  more  peaceful  than  its  external.  Genoa  presents 
the  picture  of  a  house  divided  against  itself  ;  and,  strange 
to  say,  falsifies  the  proverb  by  prospering  instead  of 
perishing.  If  there  were  commonly  wars  without,  there 
were  yet  more  persistent  factions  within.  Guelphs,  headed 


1 64  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

by  the  families  of  Grimaldi  and  Fieschi,  and  Ghibellines, 
by  those  of  Spinola  and  Doria,  indulged  in  faction-fights 
and  sometimes  in  civil  warfare,  until  at  last  some  ap- 
proach to  peace  was  procured  by  the  influence  of  Andrea 
Doria,  who,  in  obtaining  the  freedom  of  the  state  from 
French  control,  brought  about  the  adoption  of  most  im- 
portant constitutional  changes,  which  tended  to  obliterate 
the  old  and  sharply  divided  party  lines.  Yet  even  he 
narrowly  escaped  overthrow  from  a  conspiracy,  headed 
by  one  of  the  Fieschi;  his  great-nephew  and  heir  was 
assassinated,  and  his  ultimate  triumph  was  due  rather  to 
a  fortunate  accident,  which  removed  from  the  scene  the 
leader  of  his  opponents,  than  to  his  personal  power.  Then 
the  tide  of  prosperity  began  to  turn  against  the  Genoese. 
The  Turk  made  himself  master  of  their  lands  and  cities 
in  the  East.  Venice  ousted  them  from  the  commerce 
of  the  Levant.  War  arose  with  France,  and  the  city 
itself  was  captured  by  that  power  in  the  year  1684.  The 
following  century  was  far  from  being  a  prosperous  time 
for  Genoa,  and  near  the  close  it  opened  its  gates  to  the 
Republican  troops,  a  subjugation  which  ultimately  re- 
sulted in  no  little  suffering  to  the  inhabitants. 

Genoa  at  that  time  was  encircled  on  the  land  side  by 
a  double  line  of  fortifications,  a  considerable  portion  of 
which  still  remains.  The  outer  one,  with  its  associated 
detached  forts,  mounted  up  the  inland  slopes  to  an  eleva- 
tion of  some  hundreds  of  feet  above  the  sea,  and  within 
this  is  an  inner  line  of  much  greater  antiquity.  As  it 
was  for  those  days  a  place  of  exceptional  strength,  its 
capture  became  of  the  first  importance,  in  the  great 
struggle  between  France  and  Austria,  as  a  preliminary  to 
driving  the  Republican  troops  out  of  Italy.  The  city 
was  defended  by  the  French  under  the  command  of 


MASSENA  165 

Massena;  it  was  attacked  on  the  land  side  by  the  Im- 
perialist force,  while  it  was  blockaded  from  the  sea  by 
the  British  fleet.  After  fifteen  days  of  hard  fighting 
among  the  neighboring  Apennines,  Massena  was  finally 
shut  up  in  the  city.  No  less  desperate  fighting  followed 
around  the  walls,  until  at  last  the  defending  force  was 
so  weakened  by  its  losses  that  further  aggressive  opera- 
tions became  impossible  on  its  part,  and  the  siege  was 
converted  into  a  blockade.  The  results  were  famine  and 
pestilence.  A  hundred  thousand  persons  were  cooped 
up  within  the  walls.  "  From  the  commencement  of  the 
siege  the  price  of  provisions  had  been  extravagantly  high, 
and  in  its  latter  days  grain  of  any  sort  could  not  be  had 
at  any  cost.  .  .  .  The  neighboring  rocks  within 
the  walls  were  covered  with  a  famished  crowd,  seeking, 
in  the  vilest  animals  and  the  smallest  traces  of  vegetation, 
the  means  of  assuaging  their  intolerable  pangs. 
In  the  general  agony,  not  only  leather  and  skins  of  every 
kind  were  consumed,  but  the  horror  at  human  flesh  was 
so  much  abated  that  numbers  were  supported  on  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  fellow  citizens.  Pestilence,  as  usual, 
came  in  the  rear  of  famine,  and  contagious  fevers  swept 
off  multitudes,  whom  the  strength  of  the  survivors  was 
unable  to  inter."  Before  the  obstinate  defense  was  ended, 
and  Massena,  at  the  end  of  all  his  resources,  was  com- 
pelled to  capitulate  on  honorable  terms,  twenty  thousand 
of  the  inhabitants  had  perished  from  hunger  or  disease. 
The  end  of  this  terrible  struggle  brought  little  profit  to 
the  conquerors,  for  before  long  the  battle  of  Marengo, 
and  the  subsequent  successes  of  Napoleon  in  Northern 
Italy,  led  to  the  city  being  again  surrendered  to  the 
French.  It  had  to  endure  another  siege  at  the  end  of 
Napoleon's  career,  for  in  1814  it  was  attacked  by  Eng- 


1 66  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

lish  troops  under  Lord  William  Bentinck.  Fortunately 
for  the  inhabitants,  the  French  commander  decided  to 
surrender  after  a  few  days'  severe  struggle  around  the 
outer  defenses.  On  the  settlement  of  European  affairs 
which  succeeded  the  final  fall  of  Napoleon,  Genoa  was 
annexed  to  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia,  and  now  forms 
part  of  united  Italy;  though,  it  is  said,  the  old  instincts 
of  the  people  give  them  a  theoretic  preference  for  a  re- 
publican form  of  government. 

Genoa,  like  so  many  of  the  chief  Italian  towns,  has 
been  greatly  altered  during  the  last  twenty-five  years. 
Its  harbors  have  been  much  enlarged;  its  defenses  have 
been  extended  far  beyond  their  ancient  limits.  Down  by 
the  water-side,  among  the  narrow  streets  on  the  shelving 
ground  that  fringes  the  sea,  we  are  still  in  old  Genoa — 
the  city  of  the  merchant  princes  of  the  fifteenth  and  six- 
teenth centuries ;  but  higher  up  the  slopes  a  new  town 
has  sprung  up,  with  broad  streets  and  fine  modern  houses, 
and  a  "  corso,"  bordered  by  trees  and  mansions,  still  re- 
tains in  its  zigzag  outline  the  trace  of  the  old  fortifica- 
tions which  enclosed  the  arm  of  Massena.  More  than  one 
spot,  on  or  near  this  elevated  road,  commands  a  splendid 
outlook  over  the  city  and  neighborhood. 

From  such  a  position  the  natural  advantages  of  the 
site  of  Genoa,  the  geographical  conditions  which  have 
almost  inevitably  determined  its  history,  can  be  appre- 
hended at  a  glance.  Behind  us  rise  steeply,  as  has  been 
already  said,  the  hills  forming  the  southernmost  zone  of 
the  Apennines.  This,  no  doubt,  is  a  defect  in  a  military 
point  of  view,_  because  the  city  is  commanded  by  so  many 
positions  of  greater  elevation ;  but  this  defect  was  less 
serious  in  ancient  days,  when  the  range  of  ordnance  was 
comparatively  short;  while  thedifficulty  of  access  which 


MOLO    VECCHIO  167 

these  positions  presented,  and  the  obstacles  which 
the  mountain  barrier  of  the  Apennines  offered  to 
the  advance  of  an  enemy  from  the  comparatively 
distant  plains  of  Piedmont,  rendered  the  city  far 
more  secure  than  it  may  at  first  sight  have  appeared. 
Beneath  us  lies  a  deeply  recessed  bay,  in  outline  like  the 
half  of  an  egg,  guarded  on  the  east  by  a  projecting 
shoulder ;  while  on  the  western  side  hills  descend,  at  first 
rapidly,  then  more  gently,  to  a  point  which  projects  yet 
farther  to  the  south.  This  eastern  shoulder  is  converted 
into  a  kind  of  peninsula,  rudely  triangular  in  shape,  by 
the  valley  of  the  Bisagno,  a  stream  of  considerable  size 
which  thus  forms  a  natural  moat  for  the  fortifications 
on  the  eastern  side  of  the  town.  In  a  bay  thus  sheltered 
on  three  sides  by  land,  vessels  were  perfectly  safe  from 
most  of  the  prevalent  winds ;  and  it  was  only  necessary 
to  carry  out  moles  from  the  western  headland  and  from 
some  point  on  the  eastern  shore,  to  protect  them  also 
from  storms  which  might  blow  from  the  south.  The 
first  defense  was  run  out  from  the  latter  side,  and  still 
bears  the  name  of  the  Molo  Vecchio ;  then  the  port  was 
enlarged,  by  carrying  out  another  mole  from  the  end  of 
the  western  headland ;  this  has  been  greatly  extended,  so 
that  the  town  may  now  be  said  to  possess  an  inner  and 
an  outer  harbor.  From  the  parapet  of  the  Corso  these 
topographical  facts  are  seen  at  a  glance,  as  we  look  over 
the  tall  and  densely-massed  houses  to  the  busy  quays, 
and  the  ships  which  are  moored  alongside.  Such  a  scene 
cannot  fail  to  be  attractive,  and  the  lighthouse,  rising 
high  above  the  western  headland,  is  less  monotonous  in 
outline  than  is  usual  with  such  buildings,  and  greatly 
enhances  the  effect  of  the  picture.  The  city,  however, 
when  regarded  from  this  elevated  position  is  rather  want- 


1 68  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

ing  in  variety.  We  look  down  over  a  crowded  mass  of 
lofty  houses,  from  which,  indeed,  two  or  three  domes 
or  towers  rise  up ;  but  there  is  not  enough  diversity  in 
the  design  of  the  one,  or  a  sufficiently  marked  pre-emi- 
nence in  the  others,  to  afford  a  prospect  which  is  com- 
parable with  that  of  many  other  ancient  cities.  Still  some 
variety  is  given  by  the  trees,  which  here  and  there, 
especially  towards  the  eastern  promontory,  are  inter- 
spersed among  the  houses ;  while  the  Ligurian  coast  on 
the  one  hand,  and  the  distant  summits  of  the  Maritime 
Alps  on  the  other,  add  to  the  scene  a  never-failing  charm. 
Of  the  newer  part  of  the  town  little  more  need  be  said. 
It  is  like  the  most  modern  part  of  any  Continental  city, 
and  only  differs  from  the  majority  of  these  by  the  nat- 
ural steepness  and  irregularity  of  the  site.  In  Genoa, 
except  for  a  narrow  space  along  the  shore,  one  can  hardly 
find  a  plot  of  level  ground.  Now  that  the  old  limits  of 
the  enceinte  have  been  passed,  it  is  still  growing  up- 
wards ;  but  beyond  and  above  the  farthest  houses  the  hills 
are  still  crowned  by  fortresses,  keeping  watch  and  ward 
over  the  merchant  city.  These,  of  course,  are  of  modern 
date ;  but  some  of  them  have  been  reconstructed  on  the 
ancient  sites,  and  still  encrust,  as  can  be  seen  at  a  glance, 
towers  and  walls  which  did  their  duty  in  the  olden  times. 
For  a  season,  indeed,  there  was  more  to  be  protected 
'than  merchandise,  for,  till  lately,  Genoa  was  the  prin- 
cipal arsenal  of  the  Italian  kingdom  ;  but  this  has  now 
been  removed  to  Spezzia.  Italy,  however,  does  not  seem 
to  feel  much  confidence  in  that  immunity  from  plunder 
which  has  been  sometimes  accorded  to  "  open  towns," 
or  in  the  platitudes  of  peace-mongers;  and  appears  to 
take  ample  precautions  that  an  enemy  in  command  of  the 
sea  shall  not  thrust  his  hand  into  a  full  purse  without  a 


THE    LOWER    TOWN  169 

good  chance  of  getting  nothing  better  than  crushed 
fingers. 

But  in  the  lower  town  we  are  still  in  the  Genoa  of  the 
olden  time.  There  is  not,  indeed,  very  much  to  recall 
the  city  of  the  more  strictly  mediaeval  epoch ;  though  two 
churches  date  from  days  before  the  so-called  "  Re- 
naissance,'' and  are  good  examples  of  its  work.  Most  of 
what  we  now  see  belongs  to  the  Genoa  of  the  sixteenth 
century ;  or,  at  any  rate,  is  but  little  anterior  in  age  to 
this.  The  lower  town,  however,  even  where  its  build- 
ings are  comparatively  modern,  still  retains  in  plan — in 
its  narrow,  sometimes  irregular,  streets ;  in  its  yet  nar- 
rower alleys,  leading  by  flights  of  steps  up  the  steep 
hill  side ;  in  its  crowded,  lofty  houses ;  in  its  "  huddled 
up"  aspect,  for  perhaps  no  single  term  can  better  ex- 
press our  meaning — the  characteristics  of  an  ancient 
Italian  town.  In  its  streets  even  the  summer  sun — let 
the  proverb  concerning  the  absence  of  the  sun  and  the 
presence  of  the  doctor  say  what  it  may — can  seldom 
scorch,  and  the  bitter  north  wind  loses  its  force  among 
the  maze  of  buildings.  Open  spaces  of  any  kind  are 
rare ;  the  streets,  in  consequence  of  their  narrowness,  are 
unusually  thronged,  and  thus  produce  the  idea  of  a  teem- 
ing population ;  which,  indeed,  owing  to  the  general  lofti- 
ness of  the  houses,  is  large  in  proportion  to  the  area. 
They  are  accordingly  ill-adapted  for  the  requirements  of 
modern  traffic. 

Genoa,  like  Venice,  is  noted  for  its  palazsi — for  the 
sumptuous  dwellings  inhabited  by  the  burgher  aristo- 
cracy of  earlier  days,  which  are  still,  in  not  a  few  cases, 
in  possession  of  their  descendants.  But  in  style  and  in 
position  nothing  can  be  more  different.  We  do  not  refer 
to  the  obvious  distinction  that  in  the  one  city  the  highway 


1 70  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

is  water,  in  the  other  it  is  dry  land ;  or  to  the  fact  that 
buildings  in  the  so-called  Gothic  style  are  common  in 
Venice,  but  are  not  to  be  found  among  the  mansions  of 
Genoa.  It  is  rather  to  this,  that  the  Via  Nuova,  which  in 
this  respect  holds  the  same  place  in  Genoa  as  the  Grand 
Canal  does  in  Venice,  is  such  a  complete  contrast  to  it, 
that  they  must  be  compared  by  their  opposites.  The 
latter  is  a  broad  and  magnificent  highway,  affording  a 
full  view  and  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  stately 
buildings  which  rise  from  its  margin.  The  former  is  a 
narrow  street,  corresponding  in  dimensions  with  one  of 
the  less  important  among  the  side  canals  in  the  other 
city.  It  is  thus  almost  impossible  to  obtain  any  good 
idea  of  the  fagade  of  the  Genoese  palazzi.  The  passing 
traveller  has  about  as  much  chance  of  doing  this  as  he 
would  have  of  studying  the  architecture  of  Mincing 
Lane ;  and  even  if  he  could  discover  a  quiet  time,  like 
Sunday  morning  in  the  City,  he  would  still  have  to 
strain  his  neck  by  staring  upwards  at  the  overhanging 
mass  of  masonry,  and  find  a  complete  view  of  any  one 
building  almost  impossible.  But  so  far  as  these  palazzi 
can  be  seen,  how  far  do  they  repay  examination  ?  It  is  a 
common-place  with  travellers  to  expatiate  on  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  Via  Nuova,  and  one  or  two  other  streets 
in  Genoa.  There  is  an  imposing  magniloquence  in  the 
word  palazzo,  and  a  "  street  of  palaces  "  is  a  formula 
which  impels  many  minds  to  render  instant  homage. 

But,  speaking  for  myself,  I  must  own  to  being  no 
great  admirer  of  this  part  of  Genoa ;  to  me  the  design 
of  these  palazzi  appears  often  heavy  and  oppressive. 
They  are  sumptuous  rather  than  dignified,  and  impress 
one  more  with  the  length  of  the  purse  at  the  architect's 
command  than  with  the  quality  of  his  genius  or  the 


ITS    PALAZZI  171 

fecundity  of  his  conceptions.  No  doubt  there  are  some 
fine  buildings — the  Palazzo  Spinola,  the  Palazzo  Doria 
Tursi,  the  Palazzo  del'  Universita,  and  the  Pallazzo  Balbi, 
are  among  those  most  generally  praised.  But  if  I  must 
tell  the  plain,  unvarnished  truth,  I  never  felt  and  never 
shall  feel  much  enthusiasm  for  the  "  city  of  palaces." 
It  has  been  some  relief  to  me  to  find  that  I  am  not  alone 
in  this  heresy,  as  it  will  appear  to  some  For  on  turning 
to  the  pages  of  Fergusson,*  immediately  after  penning 
the  above  confession,  I  read  for  the  first  time  the  fol- 
lowing passage  (and  it  must  be  admitted  that,  though 
not  free  from  occasional  "  cranks  "  as  to  archaeological 
questions,  he  was  a  critic  of  extensive  knowledge  and  no 
mean  authority)  : — "  When  Venice  adopted  the  Renais- 
sance style,  she  used  it  with  an  aristocratic  elegance  that 
relieves  even  its  most  fantastic  forms  in  the  worst  age. 
In  Genoa  there  is  a  pretentious  parvenu  vulgarity,  which 
offends  in  spite  of  considerable  architectural  merit.  Their 
size,  their  grandeur,  and  their  grouping  may  force  us  to 
admire  the  palaces  of  Genoa ;  but  for  real  beauty  or 
architectural  propriety  of  design  they  will  not  stand  a 
moment's  comparison  with  the  contemporary  or  earlier 
palaces  of  Florence,  Rome,  or  Venice."  Farther  on  he 
adds  very  truly,  after  glancing  at  the  rather  illegitimate 
device  by  which  the  faqades  have  been  rendered  more 
effective  by  the  use  of  paint,  instead  of  natural  color  in  the 
materials  employed,  as  in  the  older  buildings  of  Venice,  he 
adds : — "  By  far  the  most  beautiful  feature  of  the  greater 
palaces  of  Genoa  is  their  courtyards  "  (a  feature  obviously 
which  can  only  make  its  full  appeal  to  a  comparatively 
limited  number  of  visitors), "though  these,  architecturally, 
consist  of  nothing  but  ranges  of  arcades,  resting  on  atten- 

*  History  of  Modern  Architecture. 


172  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

uated  Doric  pillars.  These  are  generally  of  marble, 
sometimes  grouped  in  pairs,  and  too  frequently  with  a 
block  of  an  entablature  over  each,  under  the  springing 
of  the  arch ;  but  notwithstanding  these  defects,  a  clois- 
tered court  is  always  and  inevitably  pleasing,  and  if  com- 
bined with  gardens  and  scenery  beyond,  which  is  gen- 
erally the  case  in  this  city,  the  effect,  as  seen  from  the 
streets,  is  so  poetic  as  to  disarm  criticism.  All  that  dare 
be  said  is  that,  beautiful  as  they  are,  with  a  little  more 
taste  and  judgment  they  might  have  been  ten  times  more 
so  than  they  are  now." 

Several  of  these  palazzi  contain  pictures  and  art- 
collections  of  considerable  value,  and  the  interest  of  those 
has  perhaps  enhanced  the  admiration  which  they  have 
excited  in  visitors.  One  of  the  most  noteworthy  is  the 
Palazzo  Brignole  Sale,  commonly  called  the  Palazzo 
Rosso,  because  its  exterior  is  painted  red.  This  has 
now  become  a  memorial  of  the  munificence  of  its  former 
owner,  the  Duchess  of  Galliera,  a  member  of  the  Brig- 
nole Sale  family,  who,  with  the  consent  of  her  husband 
and  relations,  in  the  year  1874  presented  this  palace 
and  its  contents  to  the  city  of  Genoa,  with  a  revenue 
sufficient  for  its  maintenance.  The  Palazzo  Reale,  in  the 
Via  Balbi,  is  one  of  those  where  the  garden  adds  a  charm 
to  an  otherwise  not  very  striking,  though  large,  edifice. 
This,  formerly  the  property  of  the  Durazzo  family,  was 
purchased  by  Charles  Albert,  King  of  Sardinia,  and  has 
thus  become  a  royal  residence.  The  Palazzo  Ducale, 
once  inhabited  by  the  Doges  of  Genoa,  has  now  been 
converted  into  public  offices,  and  the  palazzo  opposite 
to  the  Church  of  St.  Matteo  bears  an  inscription  which 
of  itself  gives  the  building  an  exceptional  interest: 
"  Senat.  Cons.  Andreae  de  Oria,  patriae  liberatori,  munus 


ANDREA  DORIA~  173 

publicum."  It  is  this,  the  earlier  home  of  the  great  citi- 
zen of  Genoa,  of  which  Rogers  has  written  in  the  often- 
quoted  lines : — 

"  He  left  it  for  a  better;  and  'tis  now 
A  house  of  trade,  the  meanest  merchandise 
Cumbering  its  floors.     Yet,  fallen  as  it  is, 
'Tis  still  the  noblest  dwelling — even  in  Genoa! 
And  hadst  thou,  Andrea,  lived  there  to  the  last, 
Thou  hadst  done  well:  for  there  is  that  without, 
That  in  the  wall,  which  monarchs  could  not  give 
Nor  thou  take  with  thee — that  which  says  aloud, 
It  was  thy  country's  gift  to  her  deliverer!" 

The  great  statesman  lies  in  the  neighboring  church, 
with  other  members  of  his  family,  and  over  the  high  altar 
hangs  the  sword  which  was  given  to  him  by  the  Pope. 
The  church  was  greatly  altered — embellished  it  was 
doubtless  supposed — by  Doria  himself ;  but  the  old  clois- 
ters, dating  from  the  earliest  part  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, still  remain  intact.  The  grander  palazzo  which  he 
erected,  as  an  inscription  outside  still  informs  us,  was  in 
a  more  open,  and  doubtless  then  more  attractive,  part  of 
the  city.  In  the  days  of  Doria  it  stood  in  ample  gardens, 
which  extended  on  one  side  down  to  a  terrace  overlook- 
ing the  harbor,  on  the  other  some  distance  up  the  hillside. 
From  the  back  of  the  palace  an  elaborate  structure  of' 
ascending  flight  of  steps  in  stone  led  up  to  a  white  marble 
colossal  statue  of  Hercules,  which  from  this  elevated  po- 
sition seemed  to  keep  watch  over  the  home  of  the  Dorias 
and  the  port  of  Genoa.  All  this  is  sadly  changed;  the 
admiral  would  now  find  little  pleasure  in  his  once  stately 
home.  It  occupies  a  kind  of  peninsula  between  two 
streams  of  twentieth-century  civilization.  Between  the 
terrace  wall  and  the  sea  the  railway  connecting  the  harbor 


174  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

with  the  main  line  has  intervened,  with  its  iron  tracks, 
its  sheds,  and  its  shunting-places — a  dreary  unsightly 
outlook,  for  the  adjuncts  of  a  terminus  are  usually  among 
the  most  ugly  appendages  of  civilization.  The  terraced 
staircase  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  palace  has  been 
swept  away  by  the  main  line  of  the  railway,  which  passes 
within  a  few  yards  of  its  fagade,  thus  severing  the  gar- 
dens and  isolating  the  shrine  of  Hercules,  who  looks 
down  forlornly  on  the  result  of  labors  which  even  he 
might  have  deemed  arduous,  while  snorting,  squealing 
engines  pass  and  repass — beasts  which  to  him  would 
have  seemed  more  formidable  than  Lernseari  hydra  or 
Nemaean  lion. 

The  palace  follows  the  usual  Genoese  rule  of  turning 
the  better  side  inwards,  and  offering  the  less  attractive 
to  the  world  at  large.  The  landward  side,  which  bor- 
ders a  narrow  street,  and  thus,  one  would  conjecture, 
must  from  the  first  have  been  connected  with  the  upper 
gardens  by  a  bridge,  or  underground  passage,  is  plain, 
almost  heavy,  in  its  design,  but  it  does  not  rise  to  so 
great  an  elevation  as  is  customary  with  the  palazzi  in 
the  heart  of  the  city.  The  side  which  is  turned  towards 
the  sea  is  a  much  more  attractive  composition,  for  it  is 
associated  with  the  usual  cloister  of  loggia  which  occu- 
pies three  sides  of  an  oblong.  This,  as  the  ground 
slopes  seaward,  though  on  the  level  of  the  street  out- 
side, stands  upon  a  basement  story,  and  communicates 
by  flights  of  steps  with  the  lower  gardens.  The  latter 
are  comparatively  small,  and  in  no  way  remarkable ;  but 
in  the  days — not  so  very  distant — when  their  terraces 
looked  down  upon  the  Mediterranean,  when  the  city  and 
its  trade  were  on  a  smaller  scale,  when  the  picturesque 
side  of  labor  had  not  yet  been  extruded  by  the  dust  and 


THE    DORTA    PALACE  175 

grime  of  over-much  toil,  no  place  in  Genoa  could  have 
been  more  pleasant  for  the  evening  stroll,  or  for  dreamy 
repose  in  some  shaded  nook  during  the  heat  of  the  day. 
The  palazzo  itself  shows  signs  of  neglect — the  family, 
I  believe,  have  for  some  time  past  ceased  to  use  it  for  a 
residence ;  two  or  three  rooms  are  still  retained  in  their 
original  condition,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  building 
is  let  off.  In  the  corridor,  near  the  entrance,  members 
of  the  Doria  family,  dressed  in  classic  garb,  in  conformity 
with  the  taste  which  prevailed  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
are  depicted  in  fresco  upon  the  walls.  On  the  roof  of 
the  grand  saloon  Jupiter  is  engaged  in  overthrowing 
the  Titans.  These  frescoes  are  the  work  of  Perini  del 
Vaga,  a  pupil  of  Raphael.  The  great  admiral,  the 
builder  of  the  palace,  is  represented  among  the  figures 
in  the  corridor,  and  by  an  oil  painting  in  the  saloon, 
which  contains  some  remains  of  sumptuous  furniture 
and  a  few  ornaments  of  interest.  He  was  a  burly  man, 
with  a  grave,  square,  powerful  face,  such  a  one  as  often 
looks  out  at  us  from  the  canvas  of  Titian  or  of  Tintoret 
— a  man  of  kindly  nature,  but  masterful  withal ;  cautious 
and  thoughful,  but  a  man  of  action  more  than  of  the 
schools  or  of  the  library ;  one  little  likely  to  be  swayed 
by  passing  impulse  or  transient  emotion,  but  clear  and 
firm  of  purpose,  who  meant  to  attain  his  end  were  it 
in  mortal  to  command  success,  and  could  watch  and 
wait  for  the  time.  Such  men,  if  one  may  trust  portraits 
and  trust  history,  were  not  uncommon  in  the  great  epoch 
when  Europe  was  shaking  itself  free  from  the  fetters  of 
mediaeval  influences,  and  was  enlarging  its  mental  no 
less  than  its  physical  horizon.  Such  men  are  the  makers 
of  nations,  and  not  only  of  their  own  fortunes ;  they  be- 
come rarer  in  the  days  of  frothy  stump  oratory  and 


1 76  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

hysteric  sentiment,  when  a  people  babbles  as  it  sinks  into 
senile  decrepitude. 

Andrea  Doria  himself — "  II  principe  "  as  he  was  styled 
• — had  a  long  and  in  some  respects  a  checkered  career. 
In  his  earlier  life  he  obtained  distinction  as  a  successful 
naval  commander,  and  in  the  curious  complications  which 
prevailed  in  those  days  among  the  Italian  States  and  their 
neighbors  ultimately  became  Admiral  of  the  French  fleet. 
But  he  found  that  Genoa  would  obtain  little  good  from 
the  French  King,  who  was  then  practically  its  master; 
so  he  transferred  his  allegiance  to  the  Emperor  Charles, 
and  by  his  aid  expelled  from  his  native  city  the  troops 
with  which  he  had  formerly  served.  So  great  was  his 
influence  in  Genoa  that  he  might  easily  have  obtained 
supreme  power ;  but  at  this,  like  a  true  patriot,  he  did  not 
grasp,  and  the  Constitution,  which  was  adopted  under 
his  influence,  gradually  put  an  end  to  the  bitter  party 
strife  which  had  for  so  long  been  the  plague  of  Genoa, 
and  it  remained  in  force  until  the  French  Revolution. 
Still,  notwithstanding  the  gratitude  generally  felt  for  his 
great  services  to  the  State,  he  experienced  in  his  long 
life — for  he  died  at  the  age  of  ninety-two — the  change- 
fulness  of  human  affairs.  He  had  no  son,  and  his  heir 
and  grand-nephew — a  young  man — was  unpopular,  and, 
as  is  often  the  case,  the  sapling  was  altogether  inferior  in 
character  to  the  withering  tree.  The  members  of  an- 
other great  family — the  Fieschi — entered  into  a  con- 
spiracy, and  collected  a  body  of  armed  men  on  the 
pretext  of  an  expedition  against  the  corsairs  who  for 
so  long  were  the  pests  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  out- 
break was  well  planned ;  on  New  Year's  night,  in  the  year 
1547,  the  chief  posts  in  the  city  were  seized.  Doria  him- 
self was  just  warned  in  time,  and  escaped  capture ;  but 


CHRISTOPHER    COLUMBUS  177 

his  heir  was  assassinated,  and  his  enemies  seemed  to  have 
triumphed.  But  their  success  was  changed  to  failure  by 
an  accident.  Count  Fiescho  in  passing  along  a  plank  to 
a  galley  in  the  harbor  made  a  false  step,  and  fell  into  the 
sea.  In  those  days  the  wearing  of  armor  added  to  the 
perils  of  the  deep ;  the  count  sank  like  a  stone,  and  so  left 
the  conspirators  without  a  leader  exactly  at  the  most 
critical  moment.  They  were  thus  before  long  defeated 
and  dispersed,  and  had  to  experience  the  truth  of  the 
proverb,  "  Who  breaks  pays,"  for  in  those  days  men  felt 
little  sentimental  tenderness  for  leaders  of  sedition  and 
disturbers  of  the  established  order.  The  Fieschi  were 
exiled,  and  their  palace  was  razed  to  the  ground.  So  the 
old  admiral  returned  to  his  home  and  his  terrace-walk 
overlooking  the  sea,  until  at  last  his  long  life  ended,  and 
they  buried  him  with  his  fathers  in  the  Church  of  S. 
Matteo. 

Not  far  from  the  Doria  Palace  is  the  memorial  to  an- 
other admiral,  of  fame  more  world-wide  than  that  of 
Doria.  In  the  open  space  before  the  railway  station — 
a  building,  a  fagade  of  which  is  not  without  architec- 
tural merit — rises  a  handsome  monument  in  honor  of 
Christopher  Columbus.  He  was  not  strictly  a  native  of 
the  city,  but  he  was  certainly  born  on  Genoese  soil,  and, 
as  it  seems  to  be  now  agreed,  at  Cogoleto,  a  small  village 
a  few  miles  west  of  the  city.  He  was  not,  however,  able 
to  convince  the  leaders  of  his  own  State  that  there  were 
wide  parts  of  the  world  yet  to  be  discovered;  and  it  is 
a  well-known  story  how  for  a  long  time  he  preached  to 
deaf  ears,  and  found,  like  most  heralds  of  startling 
physical  facts,  his  most  obstinate  opponents  among  the 
ecclesiastics  of  his  day.  Spain  at  last,  after  Genoa  and 
Portugal  and  England  had  all  refused,  placed  Columbus 


1 78  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

in  command  of  a  voyage  of  discovery;  and  on  Spanish 
ground  also — in  neglect  and  comparative  poverty,  worn 
out  by  toil  and  anxieties — the  great  explorer  ended  his 
checkered  career.  Genoa,  however,  though  inattentive 
to  the  comparatively  obscure  enthusiast,  has  not  failed  to 
pay  honor  to  the  successful  discoverer ;  and  is  glad  to 
catch  some  reflected  light  from  the  splendor  of  successes 
to  the  aid  of  which  she  did  not  contribute.  In  this  re- 
spect, however,  the  rest  of  the  world  cannot  take  up 
their  parable  at  her  ;  men  generally  find  that  on  the  whole 
it  is  less  expensive,  and  certainly  less  troublesome,  to 
build  the  tombs  of  the  prophets,  instead  of  honoring  them 
while  alive  ;  then,  indeed,  whether  bread  be  asked  or  no,  a 
stone  is  often  given.  So  now  the  effigy  of  Columbus 
stands  on  high  among  exotic  plants,  where  all  the  world 
can  see,  for  it  is  the  first  thing  encountered  by  the  trav- 
eller as  he  quits  the  railway  station. 

One  of  the  most  characteristic — if  not  one  of  the 
sweetest — places  in  Genoa  is  the  long  street,  which,  under 
more  than  one  name,  intervenes  between  the  last  row  of 
houses  in  the  town  and  the  harbor.  From  the  latter  it 
is,  indeed,  divided  by  a  line  of  offices  and  arched  halls ; 
these  are  covered  by  a  terrace-roof  and  serve  various 
purposes  more  or  less  directly  connected  with  the  ship- 
ping. The  front  walls  of  houses  which  rise  high  on  the 
landward  side  are  supported  by  rude  arches.  Thus,  as 
is  so  common  in  Italian  towns,  there  is  a  broad  foot-walk, 
protected  alike  from  sun  and  rain,  replacing  the  "ground- 
floor  front,"  with  dark  shops  at  the  back,  and  stalls,  for 
the  sale  of  all  sorts  of  odds  and  ends,  pitched  in  the 
spaces  between  the  arches.  In  many  towns  these  arcades 
are  often  among  the  most  ornamental  features;  but  in 
Genoa,  though  not  without  a  certain  quaintness,  they  are 


THE    OLD    DOGANA  179 

so  rude  in  design  and  construction  that  they  hardly  de- 
serve this  title.  The  old  Dogana,  one  of  the  buildings 
in  the  street,  gives  a  good  idea  of  the  commercial  part  of 
Genoa  before  the  days  of  steam,  and  has  a  considerable 
interest  of  its  own.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  standing 
memorial  of  the  bitter  feud  between  Genoa  and  Venice, 
for  it  is  built  with  the  stones  of  a  castle  which,  being 
captured  by  the  one  from  the  other,  was  pulled  down  and 
shipped  to  Genoa  in  the  year  1262.  Again,  within  its 
walls  was  the  Banca  di  San  Georgio,  which  had  its  origin 
in  a  municipal  debt  incurred  in  order  to  equip  an  ex- 
pedition to  stop  the  forays  of  a  family  named  Grimaldi, 
who  had  formed  a  sort  of  Cave  of  Adullam  at  Monaco. 
The  institution  afterwards  prospered,  and  held  in  trust 
most  of  the  funds  for  charitable  purposes,  till  "  the 
French  passed  their  sponge  over  the  accounts,  and  ruined 
all  the  individuals  in  the  community."  It  has  also  an 
indirect  connection  with  English  history,  for  on  the  de- 
feat of  the  Grimaldi  many  of  their  retainers  entered  the 
service  of  France,  and  were  the  Genoese  bowmen  who 
fought  at  Cressy.  Lastly,  against  its  walls  the  captured 
chains  of  the  harbor  of  Pisa  were  suspended  for  nearly 
six  centuries,  for  they  were  only  restored  to  their  former 
owners  a  comparatively  few  years  since. 

Turning  up  from  this  part  of  the  city  we  thread  nar- 
row streets,  in  which  many  of  the  principal  shops  are  still 
located.  We  pass,  in  a  busy  piazza,  the  Loggia  del 
Banchi  Borsa — the  old  exchange — a  quaint  structure  of 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  standing  on  a  raised 
platform  ;  and  proceed  from  it  into  the  Via  degli  Orefici— 
a  street  just  like  one  of  the  lanes  which  lead  from  Cheap- 
side  to  Cannon  Street,  if,  indeed,  it  be  not  still  narrower, 
but  full  of  tempting  shops.  Genoa  is  noted  for  its  work 


i8o  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

in  coral  and  precious  metals,  but  the  most  characteristic, 
as  all  visitors  know,  is  a  kind  of  filigree  work  in  gold  or 
silver,  which  is  often  of  great  delicacy  and  beauty,  and  is 
by  no  means  so  costly  as  might  be  anticipated  from  the 
elaborate  workmanship. 

The  most  notable  building  in  Genoa,  anterior  to  the 
days  when  the  architecture  of  the  Renaissance  was  in 
favor,  is  the  cathedral,  which  is  dedicated  to  S.  Lorenzo. 
The  western  fagade,  which  is  approached  by  a  broad 
flight  of  steps,  is  the  best  exposed  to  view,  the  rest  of  the 
building  being  shut  in  rather  closely  after  the  usual 
Genoese  fashion.  It  is  built  of  alternating  courses  of 
black  and  white  marble,  the  only  materials  employed  for 
mural  decoration,  so  far  as  I  remember,  in  the  city. 
The  western  fagade  in  its  lower  part  is  a  fine  example 
of  "  pointed  "  work,  consisting  of  a  triple  portal  which, 
for  elegance  of  design  and  richness  of  ornamentation, 
could  not  readily  be  excelled.  It  dates  from  about  the 
year  1307,  when  the  cathedral  was  almost  rebuilt.  The 
latter,  as  a  whole,  is  a  very  composite  structure,  for  parts 
of  an  earlier  Romanesque  cathedral  still  remain,  as  in  the 
fine  "  marble  "  columns  of  the  nave ;  and  important  al- 
terations were  made  at  a  much  later  date.  These,  to 
which  belongs  the  mean  clerestory,  painted  in  stripes  of 
black  and  white,  to  resemble  the  banded  courses  of  stone 
below,  are  generally  most  unsatisfactory ;  and  here,  as  in 
so  many  other  buildings,  one  is  compelled,  however  re- 
luctantly, "  to  bless  the  old  and  ban  the  new."  The  most 
richly  decorated  portion  of  the  interior  is  the  side  chapel, 
constructed  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  dedi- 
cated to  St.  John  the  Baptist;  here  his  relics  are  en- 
shrined for  the  reverence  of  the  faithful  and,  as  the 
guide-books  inform  us,  are  placed  in  a  magnificent  silver- 


THE    SACRO    GATING  181 

gilt  shrine,  which  is  carried  in  solemn  procession  on  the 
day  of  his  nativity.  We  are  also  informed  that  women, 
as  a  stigma  for  the  part  which  the  sex  played  in  the 
Baptist's  murder,  are  only  permitted  to  enter  the  chapel 
once  in  a  year.  This  is  not  by  any  means  the  only  case 
where  the  Church  of  Rome  gives  practical  expression  to 
its  decided  view  as  to  which  is  the  superior  sex.  The 
cathedral  possesses  another  great,  though  now  unhappily 
mutilated,  treasure  in  the  sacro  catino.  This,  in  the  first 
place,  was  long  supposed  to  have  been  carved  from  a 
single  emerald;  in  the  next,  it  was  a  relic  of  great  an- 
tiquity and  much  sanctity ;  though  as  to  its  precise  claims 
to  honor  in  this  respect  authorities  differed.  According 
to  one,  it  had  been  a  gift  from  the  Queen  of  Sheba  to 
Solomon ;  according  to  another,  it  had  contained  the 
paschal  lamb  at  the  Last  Supper ;  while  a  third  asserted 
that  in  this  dish  Joseph  of  Arimathea  had  caught  the 
blood  which  flowed  from  the  pierced  side  of  the  crucified 
Saviour.  Of  its  great  antiquity  there  can  at  least  be 
no  doubt,  for  it  was  taken  by  the  Genoese  when  they 
plundered  Csesarea  so  long  since  as  the  year  noi,  and 
was  then  esteemed  the  most  precious  thing  in  the  spoil. 
The  material  is  a  green  glass — a  conclusion  once  deemed 
so  heretical  that  any  experiment  on  the  catino  was  for- 
bidden on  pain  of  death.  As  regards  its-  former  use,  no 
more  can  be  said  than  that  it  might  possibly  be  as  old 
as  the  Christian  era.  It  is  almost  needless  to  say  that 
Napoleon  carried  it  away  to  Paris ;  but  the  worst  result 
of  this  robbery  was  that  when  restitution  was  made  after 
the  second  occupation  of  that  city,  the  catino,  through 
some  gross  carelessness,  was  so  badly  packed  that  it  was 
broken  on  the  journey  back,  and  has  been  pieced  to- 
gether by  a  gold-setting  of  filigree,  according  to  the 


1 82  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

guide-books.  An  inscription  in  the  nave  supplies  us  with 
an  interesting  fact  in  the  early  history  of  Genoa  which 
perhaps  ought  not  to  be  omitted.  It  is  that  the  city 
was  founded  by  one  Janus,  a  great  grandson  of  Noah ; 
and  that  another  Janus,  after  the  fall  of  Troy,  also  set- 
tled in  it.  Colonists  from  that  ill-fated  town  really  seem 
to  have  distributed  themselves  pretty  well  over  the 
known  world. 

More  than  one  of  the  smaller  churches  of  Genoa  is  of 
archaeological  interest,  and  the  more  modern  fabric, 
called  L'Annunziata,  is  extremely  rich  in  its  internal 
decorations,  though  these  are  more  remarkable  for  their 
sumptuousness  than  for  their  good  taste.  But  one  struc- 
ture calls  for  some  notice  in  any  account  of  the  city. 
This  is  the  Campo  Santo,  or  burial-place  of  Genoa,  sit- 
uated at  some  distance  without  the  walls  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Bisagno.  A  large  tract  of  land  on  the  slope  which 
forms  the  right  bank  of  that  stream  has  been  converted 
into  a  cemetery,  and  was  laid  out  on  its  present  plan 
rather  more  than  twenty-five  years  since.  Extensive 
open  spaces  are  enclosed  within  and  divided  by  corridors 
with  cloisters ;  terraces  also,  connected  by  flights  of  steps, 
lead  up  to  a  long  range  of  buildings  situated  some  dis- 
tance above  the  river,  in  the  center  of  which  is  a  chapel 
crowned  with  a  dome,  supported  internally  by  large 
columns  of  polished  black  Como  marble.  The  bodies  of 
the  poorer  people  are  buried  in  the  usual  way  in  the  open 
ground  of  the  cemetery,  and  the  floor  of  the  corridors 
appears  to  cover  a  continuous  series  of  vaults,  .closed,  as 
formerly  in  our  churches,  with  great  slabs  of  stone ;  but 
a  very  large  number  of  the  dead  rest  above  the  ground  in 
vaults  constructed  on  a  plan  which  has  evidently  been 
borrowed  from  catacombs  like  those  of  Rome.  There  is, 


THE    CAMPO    SANTO  183 

however,  this  difference,  that  in  the  latter  the  "  loculi," 
or  separate  compartments  to  contain  the  corpses,  were 
excavated  in  the  rock,  while  here  they  are  constructed 
entirely  of  masonry.  In  both  cases  the  "  loculus "  is 
placed  with  its  longer  axis  parallel  to  the  outer  side,  as 
was  occasionally  the  method  in  the  rock-hewn  tombs  of 
Palestine,  instead  of  having  an  opening  at  the  narrower 
end,  so  that  the  corpse,  whether  coffined  or  not,  lies  in  the 
position  of  a  sleeper  in  the  berth  of  a  ship.  After  a 
burial,  the  loculus,  as  in  the  catacombs,  is  closed,  and 
an  inscription  placed  on  a  slab  outside.  Thus  in  the 
Campo  Santo  at  Genoa  we  walk  through  a  gallery  of 
tombs.  On  either  hand  are  ranges  of  low  elongated 
niches,  rising  tier  above  tier,  each  bearing  a  long  white 
marble  tablet,  surrounded  by  a  broad  border  of  dark  ser- 
pentine breccia.  The  interior  generally  is  faced  with 
white  marble,  which  is  toned  down  by  the  interspaces  of 
the  darker  material,  and  the  effect  produced  by  these 
simple  monumental  corridors,  these  silent  records  of  those 
who  have  rested  from  their  labors,  is  impressive,  if 
somewhat  melancholy.  In  the  cloisters,  as  a  rule,  the 
more  sumptuous  memorials  are  to  be  found.  Here  com- 
monly sections  of  the  wall  are  given  up  to  the  monuments 
of  a  family,  the  vaults,  as  I  infer,  being  underneath  the 
pavement.  These  memorials  are  often  elaborate  in  de- 
sign, and  costly  in  their  materials.  They  will  be,  and 
are,  greatly  admired  by  those  to  whose  minds  sumptuous- 
ness  is  the  chief  element  in  beauty,  and  rather  second- 
rate  execution  of  conceptions  distinctly  third-rate  gives 
no  offense.  Others,  however,  will  be  chiefly  impressed 
with  the  inferiority  of  modern  statuary  to  the  better 
work  of  classic  ages,  and  will  doubt  whether  the  more 
ambitious  compositions  which  met  our  eyes  in  these  gal- 


1 84  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

leries  are  preferable  to  the  simple  dignity  of  the  mediaeval 
altar  tomb,  and  the  calm  repose  of  its  recumbent  figure. 

The  drive  to  the  Campo  Santo,  in  addition  to  afford- 
ing a  view  of  one  of  the  more  perfect  parts  of  the  old  de- 
fensive enclosure  of  Genoa,  of  which  the  Porta  Chiappia, 
one  of  the  smaller  gates,  may  serve  as  an  example,  passes 
within  sight,  though  at  some  distance  below,  one  of  the 
few  relics  of  classic  time  which  the  city  has  retained. 
This  is  the  aqueduct  which  was  constructed  by  the 
Romans.  Some  portions  of  it,  so  far  as  can  be  seen  from 
below,  appear  to  belong  to  the  original  structure ;  but,  as 
it  is  still  in  use,  it  has  been  in  many  parts  more  or  less 
reconstructed  and  modernized. 

The  environs  of  Genoa  are  pleasant.  On  both  sides, 
particularly  on  the  eastern,  are  country  houses  with 
gardens.  The  western  for  a  time  is  less  attractive.  The 
suburb  of  Sanpierdarena  is  neither  pretty  nor  interesting ; 
but  at  Conigliano,  and  still  more  at  Sestre  Ponente,  the 
grimy  finger-marks  of  commerce  become  less  conspic- 
uous, and  Nature  is  not  wholly  expelled  by  the  two-, 
pronged  fork  of  mechanism.  Pegli,  still  farther  west, 
is  a  very  attractive  spot,  much  frequented  in  the  summer 
time  for  sea-bathing.  On  this  part  of  the  coast  the  hills 
in  places  draw  near  to  the  sea,  and  crags  rise  from  the 
water ;  the  rocks  are  of  interest  in  more  than  one  respect 
to  the  geologist.  One  knoll  of  rock  rising  from  the  sand 
in  the  Bay  of  Pra  is  crowned  by  an  old  fortress,  and  at 
Pegli  itself  are  one  or  two  villas  of  note.  Of  these  the 
gardens  of  the  Villa  Pallavicini  commonly  attract  vis- 
itors. They  reward  some  by  stalactite  grottoes  and 
"  sheets  of  water  with  boats,  under  artificial  caverns,  a 
Chinese  pagoda,  and  an  Egyptian  obelisk ;"  others  will  be 
more  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  the  vegetation,  for  palms 


THE    TWO    RIVIERAS  185 

and  oleanders,  myrtles,  and  camellias,  with  many  semi- 
tropical  plants,  flourish  in  the  open  air. 

We  may  regard  Genoa  as  the  meeting-place   of  the 
two  Rivieras.     The  coast  to  the  west — the  Riviera   di 
Ponente — what  has  now,  by  the  cession  of  Nice,  become 
in  part  French  soil,  is  the  better  known ;  but  that  to  the 
east,  the  Riviera  di  Levante,  though  less  accessible  on 
the  whole,  and  without  such  an  attractive  feature  as  the 
Corniche  road,  in  the  judgment  of  some  is  distinctly  the 
more  beautiful.     There  is  indeed  a  road  which,   for  a 
part  of  the  way,  runs  near  the  sea;  but  the  much  more 
indented  character  of  the  coast  frequently  forces  it  some 
distance  inland,  and  ultimately  it  has  to  cross  a  rather 
considerable  line  of  hills  in  order  to  reach  Spezzia.    The 
outline  of  the  coast,  indeed,  is  perhaps  the  most  marked 
feature  of  difference  between  the  two  Rivieras.   The  hills 
on  the  eastern  side  descend  far  more  steeply  to  the  water 
than  they  do  upon  the  western.     They  are  much  more 
sharply  furrowed  with  gullies  and  more  deeply  indented 
by  inlets  of  the  sea;  thus  the  construction  of  a  railway 
from  Genoa  to  Spezzia  has  been  a  work  involving  no 
slight  labor.    There  are,  it  is  stated,  nearly  fifty  tunnels 
between  the  two  towns,  and  it  is  strictly  true  that  for 
a  large  part,  of  the  distance  north  of  the  latter  place  the 
train  is  more  frequently  under  than  above  ground.    Here 
it  is  actually  an  advantage  to  travel  by  the  slowest  train 
that  can  be  found,  for  this  may  serve  as  an  epitome  of 
the  journey  by  an  express  :  "  Out  of  a  tunnel ;  one  glance, 
between  rocks  and  olive-groves,  up  a  ravine,  into  which 
a  picturesque  old  village  is  wedged;  another  glance  down 
the  same  to  the  sea,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight  below;  a 
shriek  from  the  engine,  and  another  plunge  into  dark- 
ness."    So  narrow  are  some  of  these  gullies,  up  which, 


1 86  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

however,  a  village  climbs,  that,  if  I  may  trust  my  mem- 
ory, I  have  seen  a  train  halted  at  a  station  with  the  engine 
in  the  opening  of  one  tunnel  and  the  last  car  not  yet 
clear  of  another. 

But  the  coast,  when  explored,  is  full  of  exquisite  nooks, 
and  here  and  there,  where  by  chance  the  hills  slightly 
recede,  or  a  larger  valley  than  usual  comes  down  to  the 
sea,  towns  of  some  size  are  situated,  from  which,  as 
halting-places,  the  district  might  be  easily  explored,  for 
trains  are  fairly  frequent,  and  the  distances  are  not  great. 
For  a  few  miles  from  Genoa  the  coast  is  less  hilly  than 
it  afterwards  becomes ;  nevertheless,  the  traveller  is  pre- 
pared for  what  lies  before  him  by  being  conducted  from 
the  main  station,  on  the  west  side  of  Genoa,  completely 
beneath  the  city  to  near  its  eastern  wall.  Then  Nervi 
is  passed,  which,  like  Pegli,  attracts  not  a  few  summer 
visitors,  and  is  a  bright  and  sunny  town,  with  pleasant 
gardens  and  villas.  Recco  follows,  also  bright  and  cheer- 
ful, backed  by  the  finely-outlined  hills,  which  form  the 
long  promontory  enclosing  the  western  side  of  the  Bay 
of  Rapallo.  Tunnels  and  villages,  as  the  railway  now 
plunges  into  the  rock,  now  skirts  the  margin  of  some  little 
bay,  lead  first  to  Rapallo  and  then  to  Chiavari,  one  with 
its  slender  campanile,  the  other  with  its  old  castle.  The 
luxuriance  of  the  vegetation  in  all  this  district  cannot  fail 
to  attract  notice.  The  slopes  of  the  hills  are  grey  with 
olives ;  oranges  replace  apples  in  the  orchards,  and  in 
the  more  sheltered  nooks  we  espy  the  paler  gold  of  the 
lemon.  Here  are  great  spiky  aloes,  there  graceful  feather- 
ing palms ;  here  pines  of  southern  type,  with  spreading 
holm-oaks,  and  a  dozen  other  evergreen  shrubs. 

Glimpse  after  glimpse  of  exquisite  scenery  flashes  upon 
us  as  we  proceed  to  Spezzia,  but,  as  already  said,  its  full 


SPEZZIA  187 

beauty  can  only  be  appreciated  by  rambling  among  the 
hills  or  boating  along,  the  coast.  There  is  endless  variety, 
but  the  leading  features  are  similar :  steep  hills  furrowed 
by  ravines,  craggy  headlands  and  sheltered  coves ;  vil- 
lages sometimes  perched  high  on  a  shoulder,  sometimes 
nestling  in  a  gully ;  sometimes  a  campanile,  sometimes  a 
watch-tower ;  slopes,  here  clothed  with  olive  groves,  here 
with  their  natural  covering  of  pine  and  oak  scrub,  of 
heath,  myrtle,  and  strawberry-trees.  A  change  also  in 
the  nature  of  the  rock  diversifies  the  scenery,  for  between 
Framura  and  Bonasola  occurs  a  huge  mass  of  serpentine, 
which  recalls,  in  its  peculiar  structure  and  tints,  the  crags 
near  the  Lizard  in  England.  This  rock  is  extensively 
quarried  in  the  neighborhood  of  Levanto,  and  from  that 
little  port  many  blocks  are  shipped. 

Spezzia  itself  has  a  remarkable  situation.  A  large  in- 
let of  the  sea  runs  deep  into  the  land,  parallel  with  the 
general  trend  of  the  hills,  and  almost  with  that  of  the 
coast-line.  The  range  which  shelters  it  on  the  west  nar- 
rows as  it  falls  to  the  headland  of  Porto  Venere,  and  is 
extended  yet  farther  by  rocky  islands ;  while  on  the  op- 
posite coast,  hills  no  less,  perhaps  yet  more,  lofty,  pro- 
tect the  harbor  from  the  eastern  blasts.  In  one  direction 
only  is  it  open  to  the  wind,  and  against  this  the  com- 
parative narrowness  of  the  inlet  renders  the  construction 
of  artificial  defenses  possible.  At  the  very  head  of  this 
deeply  embayed  sheet  of  water  is  a  small  tract  of  level 
ground — the  head,  as  it  were,  of  a  valley — encircled  by 
steep  hills.  On  this  little  plain,  and  by  the  waterside, 
stands  Spezzia.  Formerly  it  was  a  quiet  country  town, 
a  small  seaport  with  some  little  commerce  ;  but  when  Italy 
ceased  to  be  a  geographical  expression,  and  became  prac- 
tically one  nation,  Spezzia  was  chosen,  wisely  it  must  be 


1 88  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

admitted,  as  the  site  of  the  chief  naval  arsenal.     A  single 
glance  shows  its  natural  advantages  for  such  a  purpose. 
Access   from  the   land  must  always  present   difficulties, 
and  every  road  can  be  commanded  by  forts,  perched  on 
yet  more  elevated  positions;  while  a  hostile  fleet,  as  it 
advances  up  the  inlet,  must  run  the  gauntlet  of  as  many 
batteries  as  the  defenders  can  build.     Further,  the  con- 
struction of  a  breakwater  across  the  middle  of  the  chan- 
nel at  once  has  been  a  protection  from  the  storms,  and 
has  compelled  all  who  approach  to  pass  through  straits 
commanded  by  cannon.     The  distance  of  the  town  from 
its  outer  defenses  and  from  the  open  sea  seems  enough 
to  secure  it  even  from  modern  ordnance ;  so  that,  until 
the   former  are  crushed,   it  cannot  be  reached   by  pro- 
jectiles.    But  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  change  has 
not  been  without  its  drawbacks.     The  Spezzia  of  to-day 
may  be  a  more  prosperous  town  than  the  Spezzia  of  a 
quarter  of  a  century  since,  but  it  has  lost  some  of  its 
beauty,     A  twentieth-century  fortress  adds  no  charm  to 
the  scenery,  and  does  not  crown  a  hill  so  picturesquely 
as  did  a  mediaeval  castle.     Houses  are  b'eing  built,  roads 
are  being  made,  land  is  being  reclaimed  from  the  sea  for 
the  construction  of  quays.  Thus  the  place  has  a  generally 
untidy  aspect;  there  is  a  kind  of  ragged  selvage  to  town 
and  sea,  which,  at  present,  on  a  near  view,  is  very  un- 
sightly.    Moreover,  the  buildings  of  an  arsenal  can  hardly 
be  picturesque  or  magnificent ;  and  great  factories,  more 
or  less  connected  with  them,  have  sprung  up  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, from  which  rise  tall  red  brick  chimneys,  the 
campaniles  of  the  twentieth  century.     The  town  itself 
was  never  a  place  of  any  particular  interest ;  it  has  neither 
fine  churches  nor  old  gateways  nor  picturesque  streets 
— a  ruinous  fort  among  the  olive  groves  overlooking  the 


ORANGES  189 

streets  is  all  that  can  claim  to  be  ancient — so  that  its 
growth  has  not  caused  the  loss  of  any  distinctive  feature 
—unless  it  be  a  grove  of  old  oleanders,  which  were  once 
a  sight  to  see  in  summer  time.  Many  of  these  have  now 
disappeared,  perhaps  from  natural  decay ;  and  the  sur- 
vivors are  mixed  with  orange  trees.  These,  during  late 
years,  have  been  largely  planted  about  the  town.  In  one 
of  the  chief  streets  they  are  growing  by  the  side  of  the 
road,  like  planes  or  chestnuts  in  other  towns.  The  golden 
fruit  and  the  glossy  leaves,  always  a  delight  to  see,  ap- 
pear to  possess  a  double  charm  by  contrast  with  the  arid 
flags  and  dusty  streets.  Ripe  oranges  in  dozens,  in  hun- 
dreds, all  along  bjTthe  pathway,  and  within  two  or  three 
yards  of  the  pavement !  Are  the  boys  of  Spezzia  ex- 
ceptionally virtuous  ?  or  are  these  golden  apples  of  the 
Hesperides  a  special  pride  of  the  populace,  and  does 
"  Father  Stick  "  still  rule  in  home  and  school,  and  is  this 
'  immunity  the  result  of  physical  coercion  rather  than  of 
moral  suasion  ?  Be  this  as  it  may,  I  have  with  mine  own 
eyes  seen  golden  oranges  by  hundreds  hanging  on  the 
trees  in  the  streets  of  Spezzia,  and  would  be  glad  to  know 
how  long  they  would  remain  in  a  like  position  in  those 
of  an  English  town,  among  "  the  most  law-abiding  peo- 
ple in  the  universe !  " 

But  if  the  vicinity  of  the  town  has  lost  some  of  its 
ancient  charm,  if  modern  Spezzia  reminds  us  too  much, 
now  of  Woolwich,  now  of  a  "  new  neighborhood  "  on 
the  outskirts  of  London,  we  have  but  to  pass  into  the 
uplands,  escaping  from  the  neighborhood  of  forts,  to 
find  the  same  beauties  as  the  mountains  of  this  coast  ever 
afford.  There  the  sugar-cane  and  the  vine,  the  fig  and 
the  olive  cease,  though  the  last  so  abounds  that  one  might 
suppose  it  an  indigenous  growth ;  there  the  broken  slopes 


190  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

are  covered  with  scrub  oak  and  dwarf  pine;  there  the 
myrtle  blossoms,  hardly  ceasing  in  the  winter  months  ; 
there  the  strawberry-tree  shows  its  waxen  flowers,  and 
is  bright  in  season  with  its  rich  crimson  berries.  Even 
the  villages  add  a  beauty  to  the  landscape — at  any  rate, 
when  regarded  from  a  distance ;  some  are  perched  high 
up  on  the  shoulders  of  hills,  with  distant  outlooks  over 
land  and  sea;  others  lie  down  by  the  water's  edge  in 
sheltered  coves,  beneath  some  ruined  fort,  which  in  olden 
time  protected  the  fisher-folk  from  the  raids  of  corsairs. 
Such  are  Terenza  and  Lerici,  looking  at  each  other  across 
the  waters  of  the  little  "  Porto ;"  and  many  another  vil- 
lage, in  which  grey  and  white  and  "pink  tinted  houses 
blend  into  one  pleasant  harmony  of  color.  For  all  this 
part -of  the  coast  is  a  series  of  rocky  headlands  and  tiny 
bays,  one  succession  of  quiet  nooks,  to  which  the  sea 
alone  forms  a  natural  highway.  Not  less  irregular,  not 
less  sequestered,  is  the  western  coast  of  the  Bay  of  Spez- 
zia,  which  has  been  already  mentioned.  Here,  at  Porto 
Venere,  a  little  village  still  carries  us  back  in  its  name  to 
classic  times ;  and  the  old  church  on  the  rugged  head- 
land stands  upon  a  site  which  was  once  not  unfitly  oc- 
cupied by  a  temple  of  the  seaborn  goddess.  The  beauty 
of  the  scene  is  enhanced  by  a  rocky  wooded  island,  the 
Isola  Palmeria,  which  rises  steeply  across  a  narrow  strait ; 
though  the  purpose  to  which  it  has  been  devoted — a 
prison  for  convicts — neither  adds  to  its  charm  nor  awak- 
ens pleasant  reflections. 

To  some  minds  also  the  harbor  itself,  busy  and  bright 
as  the  scene  often  is,  will  suggest  more  painful  thoughts 
than  it  did  in  olden  days.  For  it  is  no  preacher  of 
"  peace  at  any  price,"  and  is  a  daily  witness  that  millen- 
nial days  are  still  far  away  from  the  present  epoch.; 


THE    HARBOR  191 

Here  may  be  seen  at  anchor  the  modern  devices  for  naval 
war:  great  turret-ships  and  ironclads,  gunboats  and  tor- 
pedo launches — evils,  necessary  undoubtedly,  but  evils 
still ;  outward  and  visible  signs  of  the  burden  of  taxation, 
which  is  cramping  the  development  of  Italy,  and  is  in- 
directly the  heavy  price  which  it  has  to  pay  for  entering 
the  ranks  of  the  great  Powers  of  Europe.  These  are  less 
picturesque  than  the  old  line-of-battle  ships,  with  their 
high  decks,  their  tall  masts,  and  their  clouds  of  canvas ; 
still,  nothing  can  entirely  spoil  the  harbor  of  Spezzia, 
and  even  these  floating  castles  group  pleasantly  in  the 
distance  with  the  varied  outline  of  hills  and  headlands, 
which  is  backed  at  last,  if  we  look  southward,  by  the 
grand  outline  of  a  group  of  veritable  mountains — the 
Apuan  Alps. 


IX 

THE  TUSCAN  COAST 

Shelley's  last  months  at  Lerici — Story  of  his  death — Carrara 
and  its  marble  quarries — Pisa — Its  grand  group  of  ecclesi- 
astical buildings — The  cloisters  of  the  Campo  Santo — Na- 
poleon's life  on  Elba — Origin  of  the  Etruscans — The  ruins 
of  Tarquinii — Civita  Vecchia,  the  old  port  of  Rome — Ostia. 

HE  Bay  of  Spezzia  is  defined  sharply  enough  on 
its  western  side  by  the  long,  hilly  peninsula 
which  parts  it  from  the  Mediterranean,  but  as 
this  makes  only  a  small  angle  with  the  general  trend  of 
the  coast-line,  its  termination  is  less  strongly  marked  on 
the  opposite  side.  Of  its  beauties  we  have  spoken  in  an 
earlier  article,  but  there  is  a  little  town  at  the  southern 
extremity  which,  in  connection  with  the  coast  below,  has 
a  melancholy  interest  to  every  lover  of  English  literature. 
Here,  at  Lerici,  Shelley  spent  what  proved  to  be  the  last 
months  of  his  life.  The  town  itself,  once  strongly  forti- 
fied by  its  Pisan  owners  against  their  foes  of  Genoa  on 
the  one  side  and  Lucca  on  the  other,  is  a  picturesque  spot. 
The  old  castle  crowns  a  headland,  guarding  the  little 
harbor  and  overlooking  the  small  but  busy  town.  At  a 
short  distance  to  the  southeast  is  the  Casa  Magni,  once 
a  Jesuit  seminary,  which  was  occupied  by  Shelley. 
Looking  across  the  beautiful  gulf  to  the  hills  on  its  oppo- 
site shore  and  the  island  of  Porto  Venere,  but  a  few  miles 

193 


SHELLEY  193 

from  the  grand  group  of  the  Carrara  mountains,  in  the 
middle  of  the  luxuriant  scenery  of  the  Eastern  Riviera, 
the  house,  though  in  itself  not  very  attractive,  was  a  fit 
home   for  a   lover  of  nature.     But   Shelley's   residence 
within   its   walls   was   too   soon   cut   short.     There   are 
strange  tales   (like  those  told  with  bated  breath  by  old 
nurses   by   the   fireside)    that   as   the   closing   hour   ap- 
proached the  spirits  of  the  unseen  world  took  bodily  form 
and  became  visible  to  the  poet's  eye ;  tales  of  a  dark- 
robed  figure  standing  by  his  bedside  beckoning  him  to 
follow ;  of  a  laughing  child  rising  from  the  sea  as  he 
walked  by  moonlight  on  the  terrace,  clapping  its  hands 
in  glee ;  and  of  other  warnings  that  the  veil  which  parted 
him  from  the  spirit  world  was  vanishing  away.     Shelley 
delighted  in  the  sea.     On  the  1st  of  July  he  left  Lerici 
for  Leghorn  in  a  small  sailing  vessel.    On  the  8th  he  set 
out  to  return,  accompanied  only  by  his  friend,  Mr.  Wil- 
liams, and  an  English  lad.     The  afternoon  was  hot  and 
sultry,  and  as  the  sun  became  low  a  fearful  squall  burst 
upon  the  neighboring  sea.     What  happened  no  one  ex- 
actly knows,  but  they  never  came  back  to  the  shore.   Day 
followed  day,  and  the  great  sea  kept  its  secret;  but  at 
last,  on  the  22d,  the  corpse  of  Shelley  was  washed  up 
near  Viareggio  and  that  of  Williams  near  Bocca  Lerici, 
three  miles  away.    It  was  not  till  three  weeks  afterwards 
that  the  body  of  the  sailor  lad  came  ashore.     Probably 
the  felucca  had  either  capsized  or  had  been  swamped  at 
the  first  break  of  the  storm ;  but  when  it  was  found,  some 
three  months  afterwards,  men  said  that  it  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  run  down,  and  even  more  ugly  rumors  got 
abroad  that  this  was  no  accident,  but  the  work  of  some 
Italians,  done  in  the  hope  of  plunder,  as  it  was  expected 
that  the  party  had  in  charge  a  considerable  sum  of  money. 


194  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

The  bodies  were  at  first  buried  in  the  sand  with  quick- 
lime ;  but  at  that  time  the  Tuscan  law  required  "  any 
object, then  cast  ashore  to  be  burned,  as  a  precaution 
against  plague,"  so,  by  the  help  of  friends,  the  body  of 
Shelley  was  committed  to  the  flames  "  with  fuel  and 
frankincense,  wine,  salt,  and  oil,  the  accompaniments  of 
a  Greek  cremation,"  in  the  presence  of  Byron  Leigh 
Hunt,  and  Trelawny.  The  corpse  of  Williams  had  been 
consumed  in  like  fashion  on  the  previous  day.  "  It  was 
a  glorious  day  and  a  splendid  prospect ;  the  cruel  and 
calm  sea  before,  the  Appennines  behind.  A  curlew 
wheeled  close  to  the  pyre,  screaming,  and  would  not  be 
driven  away;  the  flames  arose  golden  and  towering." 
The  inurned  ashes  were  entombed,  as  everyone  knows, 
in  the  Prostestant  burial  ground  at  Rome  by  the  side  of 
Keats'  grave,  near  the  pyramid  of  Cestius.  Much  as 
there  was  to  regret  in  Shelley's  life,  there  was  more  in 
his  death,  for  such  genius  as  his  is  rare,  and  if  the  work 
of  springtide  was  so  glorious,  what  might  have  been  the 
summer  fruitage? 

As  the  Gulf  of  Spezzia  is  left  behind,  the  Magra 
broadens  out  into  an  estuary  as  it  enteres  the  sea,  the 
river  which  formed  in  olden  days  the  boundary  between 
Liguria  and  Etruria.  Five  miles  from  the  coast,  and 
less  than  half  the  distance  from  the  river,  is  Sarzana,  the 
chief  city  of  the  province,  once  fortified,  and  still  con- 
taining a  cathedral  of  some  interest.  It  once  gave  birth 
to  a  Pope,  Nicholas  V.,  the  founder  of  the  Vatican 
Library,  and  in  the  neighborhood  the  family  of  the 
Buonapartes  had  their  origin,  a  branch  of  it  having 
emigrated  to  Corsica.  Sarzana  bore  formerly  the  name 
of  Luna  Nova,  as  it  had  replaced  another  Luna  which 
stood  near  to  the  mouth  of  the  river.  This  was  in  ruins 


CARRARA  195 

even  in  the  days  of  Lucan,  and  now  the  traveller  from 
Saranza  to  Pisa  sees  only  "  a  strip  of  low,  grassy  land 
intervening  between  him  and  the  sea.  Here  stood  the 
ancient  city.  There  is  little  enough  to  see.  Beyond  a 
few  crumbling  tombs  and  a  fragment  or  two  of  Roman 
ruins,  nothing  remains  of  Luna.  The  fairy  scene  de- 
scribed by  Rutilus,  so  appropriate  to  the  spot  which  bore 
the  name  of  the  virgin-queen  of  heaven,  the  '  fair  white 
walls  '  shaming  with  their  brightness  the  untrodden  snow, 
the  smooth,  many-tinted  rocks  overrun  with  laughing 
lilies,  if  not  the  pure  creation  of  the  poet,  have  now  van- 
ished from  the  sight.  Vestiges  of  an  amphitheater,  of 
a  semicircular  building  which  may  be  a  theater,  of  a 
circus,  a  piscina,  and  fragments  of  columns,  pedestals  for 
statues,  blocks  of  pavement  and  inscriptions,  are  all  that 
Luna  has  now  to  show." 

But  all  the  while  the  grand  group  of  the  Carrara  hills 
is  in  view,  towering  above  a  lowland  region  which  rolls 
down  towards  the  coast.  -A  branch  line  now  leads  from 
Avenza,  a  small  seaport  town  from  which  the  marble  is 
shipped,  to  the  town  of  Carrara,  through  scenery  of  sin- 
gular beauty.  The  shelving  banks  and  winding  slopes 
of  the  foreground  hills  are  clothed  with  olives  and  oaks 
and  other  trees ;  here  and  there  groups  of  houses,  white 
and  grey  and  pink,  cluster  around  a  campanile  tower  on 
some  coign  of  vantage,  while  at  the  back  rises  the  great 
mountain  wall  of  the  Apuan  Alps,  with  its  gleaming 
crags,  scarred,  it  must  be  admitted,  rather  rudely  and 
crudely  by  its  marble  quarries,  though  the  long  slopes  of 
screes  beneath  these  gashes  in  the  more  distant  views  al- 
most resemble  the  Alpine  snows.  The  situation  of  the 
town  is  delightful,  for  it  stands  at  the  entrance  of  a 
rapidly  narrowing  valley,  in  a  sufficiently  elevated  posi- 


196  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

tion  to  command  a  view  of  this  exquisitely  rich  lowland 
as  it  shelves  and  rolls  down  to  the  gleaming  sea.    Nor  is 
the  place  itself  devoid  of  interest.     One  of  its  churches 
at  least,  S.  Andrea,  is  a  really  handsome  specimen  of  the 
architecture  of  this  part  of  Italy  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury, but  the  quarries  dominate,  and  their  products  are 
everywhere.     Here  are  the  studios  of  sculptors  and  the 
ateliers  of  workmen.     The  fair  white  marble  here,  like 
silver  in  the  days  of  Solomon,  is  of  little  account ;  it 
paves  the  street,  builds  the  houses,  serves  even  for  the 
basest  uses,  and  is  to  be  seen  strewn  or  piled  up  every- 
where to  await  dispersal  by  the  trains  to  more  distant 
regions.     Beyond  the  streets  of  Carrara,  in  the  direction 
of  the  mountains,  carriage  roads  no  longer  exist.    Lanes 
wind  up  the  hills  here  and  there  in  rather  bewildering 
intricacy,  among  vines  and  olive  groves,  to  hamlets  and 
quarries ;   one,   indeed,   of   rather  larger  size  and  more 
fixity  of  direction,  keeps   for  a  time  near  the  river,  if 
indeed  the  stream  which  flows  by  Carrara  be  worthy  of 
that  name,  except  when  the  storms  are  breaking  or  the 
snows  are  melting  upon  the  mountains.     But  all  these 
lanes  alike  terminate  in  a  quarry,  are  riven  with  deep 
ruts,  ploughed  up  like  a  field  by  the  wheels  of  the  heavy 
wagons  that  bring  down  the  great  blocks  of  marble.    One 
meets  these  grinding  and  groaning  on  their  way,  drawn 
by  yokes  of  dove-colored  oxen    (longer  than  that  with 
which  Elisha  was  ploughing  when  the  older  prophet  cast 
his  mantle  upon  his  shoulders),  big,  meek-looking  beasts, 
mild-eyed  and  melancholy  as  the  lotus-eaters.     To  meet 
them  is  not  always  an  unmixed  pleasure,  for  the  lanes 
are  narrow,  and  there  is  often  no  room  to  spare ;  how 
the  traffic  is  regulated  in  some  parts  is  a  problem  which 
I  have  not  yet  solved. 


PIETRA  SANTA  197 

Carrara  would  come  near  to  being  an  earthly  paradise 
were  it  not  for  the  mosquitos,  which  are  said  to  be  such 
that  they  would  have  made  even  the  Garden  of  Eden 
untenable,  especially  to  its  first  inhabitants.  Of  them, 
however,  I  cannot  speak,  for  I  have  never  slept  in  the 
town,  or  even  visited  it  at  the  season  when  this  curse 
of  the  earth  is  at  its  worst ;  but  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
asserting  that  the  mountains  of  Carrara  are  not  less  beau- 
tiful in  outline  than  those  of  any  part  of  the  main  chain 
of  the  Alps  of  like  elevation,  while  they  are  unequalled 
in  color  and  variety  of  verdure. 

To  Avenza  succeeds  Massa,  a  considerable  town,  beau- 
tifully situated  among  olive-clad  heights,  which  are 
spotted  with  villas  and  densely  covered  with  foliage. 
Like  Carrara,  it  is  close  to  the  mountains,  and  disputes 
with  Carrara  for  the  reputation  of  its  quarries.  This 
town  was  once  the  capital  of  a'  duchy,  Massa-Carrara, 
and  the  title  was  borne  by  a  sister  of  Napoleon  I.  Her 
large  palace  still  remains ;  her  memory  should  endure, 
though  not  precisely  in  honor,  for  according  to  Mr. 
Hare,  she  pulled  down  the  old  cathedral  to  improve  the 
view  from  her  windows.  But  if  Massa  is  beautiful,  so 
is  Pietra  Santa,  a  much  smaller  town  enclosed  by  old 
walls  and  singularly  picturesque  in  outline.  It  has  a  fine 
old  church,  with  a  picturesque  campanile,  which,  though 
slightly  more  modern  than  the  church  itself,  has  seen, 
more  than  four  centuries.  The  piazza,  with  the  Town 
Hall,  this  church  and  another  one,  is  a  very  characteristic 
feature.,  In  the  baptistry  of  one  of  the  churches  are  some 
bronzes  by  Donatello.  About  half  a  dozen  miles  away, 
reached  by  a  road  which  passes  through  beautiful  scenery, 
are  the  marble  quarries  of  Seravezza,  which  were  first 
opened  by  Michael  Angelo,  and  are  still  in  full  work. 


198  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

There  is  only  one  drawback  to  travelling  by  railway  in 
this  region;  the  train  goes  too  fast.  Let  it  be  as  slow 
as  it  will,  and  it  can  be  very  slow,  we  can  never  succeed 
in  coming  to  a  decision  as  to  which  is  the  most  pictur- 
esquely situated  place  or  the  most  lovely  view.  Compari- 
sons notoriously  are  odious,  but  delightful,  as  undoubt- 
edly is  the  Riviera  di  Ponenta  to  me,  the  Riviera  di 
Levante  seems  even  more  lovely. 

After  Pietra  Santa,  however,  the  scenery  becomes  less 
attractive,  the  Apuan  Alps  begin  to  be  left  behind,  and 
a  wider  strip  of  plain  parts  the  Apennines  from  the  sea. 
This,  which  is  traversed  by  the  railway,  is  in  itself  flat, 
stale,  though  perhaps  not  unprofitable  to  the  husband- 
man. Viareggio,  mentioned  on  a  previous  page,  nestles 
among  its  woods  of  oaks  and  pines,  a  place  of  some  little 
note  as  a  health  resort ;  and  then  the  railway  after  emerg- 
ing from  the  forest  strikes  away  from  the  sea,  and  crosses 
the  marshy  plains  of  the  Serchio,  towards  the  banks  of 
the  Arno. 

It  now  approaches  the  grand  group  of  ecclesiastical 
buildings  which  rise  above  the  walls  of  Pisa.  As  this 
town  lies  well  inland,  being  six  miles  from  the  sea,  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  a  brief  mention.  But  a  long 
description  is  needless,  for  who  does  not  know  of  its 
cathedral  and  its  Campo  Santo,  of  its  baptistry  and  its 
leaning  tower?  There  is  no  more  marvelous  or  complete 
group  of  ecclesiastical  buildings  in  Europe,  all  built  of 
the  white  marble  of  Carrara,  now  changed  by  age  into 
a  delicate  cream  color,  but  still  almost  dazzling  in  the 
glory  of  the  mid-day  sun,  yet  never  so  beautiful  as  when 
walls,  arches,  and  pinnacles  are  aglow  at  its  rising,  or 
flushed  at  its  setting.  In  the  cloisters  of  the  Campo 
Santo  you  may  see  monuments  which  range  over  nearly 


PISA  199 

five  centuries,  and  contrast  ancient  and  modern  art;  the 
frescoes  on  their  walls,  though  often  ill  preserved,  and 
not  seldom  of  little  merit,  possess  no  small  interest  as 
illustrating  medieval  notions  of  a  gospel  of  love  and 
peace.  Beneath  their  roof  at  the  present  time  are  shel- 
tered a  few  relics  of  Roman  and  Etruscan  days  which 
will  repay  examination.  The  very  soil  also  of  this  God's 
acre  is  not  without  an  interest,  for  when  the  Holy  Land 
was  lost  to  the  Christians,  fifty-and-three  shiploads  of 
earth  were  brought  hither  from  Jerusalem  that  the  dead 
of  Pisa  might  rest  in  ground  which  had  been  sanctified 
by  the  visible  presence  of  their  Redeemer.  The  cathe- 
dral is  a  grand  example  of  the  severe  but  stately  style 
which  was  in  favor  about  the  end  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury, for  it  was  consecrated  in  the  year  1118.  It  com- 
memorates a  great  naval  victory  won  by  the  Pisans,  three 
years  before  the  battle  of  Hastings,  and  the  columns 
which  support  the  arches  of  the  interior  were  at  once  the 
spoils  of  classic  buildings  and  the  memorials  of  Pisan 
victories.  The  famous  leaning  tower,  though  later  in 
date,  harmonizes  well  in  general  style  with  the  cathedral. 
Its  position,  no  doubt,  attracts  most  attention,  for  to  the 
eye  it  seems  remarkably  insecure,  but  one  cannot  help 
wishing  that  the  settlement  had  never  occurred,  for  the 
slope  is  sufficient  to  interfere  seriously  with  the  har- 
mony of  the  group.  The  baptistry  also  harmonizes  with 
the  cathedral,  though  it  was  not  begun  till  some  forty 
years  after  the  latter  was  completed,  and  not  only  was 
more  than  a  century  in  building,  but  also  received  some 
ornamental  additions  in  the  fourteenth  century.  But 
though  this  cathedral  group  is  the  glory  and  the  crown 
of  Pisa,  the  best  monument  of  its  proudest  days,  there 
are  other  buildings  of  interest  in  the  town  itself;  and  the 


200  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

broad  quays  which  flank  the  Arno  on  each  side,  the  Lun- 
garno  by  name,  which  form  a  continuous  passage  from 
one  end  of  the  town  to  the  other,  together  with  the  four 
bridges  which  link  its  older  and  newer  part,  are  well 
worthy  of  more  than  a  passing  notice. 

The  land  bordering  the  Arno  between  Pisa  and  its 
junction  with  the  Mediterranean  has  no  charm  for  the 
traveller,  however  it  may  commend  itself  to  the  farmer. 
A  few  miles  south  of  the  river's  mouth  is  Leghorn,  and 
on  the  eleven  miles'  journey  by  rail  from  it  to  Pisa  the 
traveller  sees  as  much,  and  perhaps  more,  than  he  could 
wish  of  the  delta  of  the  Arno.  It  is  a  vast  alluvial  plain, 
always  low-lying,  in  places  marshy ;  sometimes  meadow 
land,  sometimes  arable,  Here  and  there  are  slight  and 
inconspicuous  lines  of  dunes,  very  probably  the  records 
of  old  sea  margins  as  the  river  slowly  encroached  upon 
the  Mediterranean,  which  are  covered  sometimes  with  a 
grove  of  pines. 

Leghorn  is  not  an  old  town,  and  has  little  attraction 
for  the  antiquarian  or  the  artist.  In  fact,  I  think  it,  for 
its  size,  the  most  uninteresting  town,  whether  on  the 
sea  or  inland,  that  I  have  entered  in  Italy.  Brindisi  is 
a  dreary  hole,  but  it  has  one  or  two  objects  of  interest. 
Bari  is  not  very  attractive,  but  it  has  two  churches,  the 
architecture  of  which  will  repay  long  study ;  but  Leg- 
horn is  almost  a  miracle  of  commonplace  architecture 
and  of  dullness.  Of  course  there  is  a  harbor,  of  course 
there  are  ships,  of  course  there  is  the  sea,  and  all  these 
possess  a  certain  charm ;  but  really  this  is  about  as  small 
as  it  can  be  under  the  circumstances.  The  town  was  a 
creation  of  the  Medici,  "  the  masterpiece  of  that  dynasty." 
In  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  it  was  an  insignifi- 
cant place,  with  between  seven  and  eight  hundred  in- 


LEGHORN  201 

habitants.  But  it  increased  rapidly  when  the  princes  of 
that  family  took  the  town  in  hand  and  made  it  a  cave 
of  Adullam,  whither  the  discontented  or  oppressed  from 
other  lands  might  resort :  Jews  and  Moors  from  Spain 
and  Portugal,  escaping  from  persecution;  Roman 
Catholics  from  England,  oppressed  by  the  retaliatory 
laws  of  Elizabeth;  merchants  from  Marseilles,  seeking 
refuge  from  civil  war.  Thus  fostered,  it  was  soon 
thronged  by  men  of  talent  and  energy ;  it  rapidly  grew 
into  an  important  center  of  commerce,  and  now  the  town 
with  its  suburbs  contains  nearly  a  hundred  thousand 
souls. 

Leghorn  is  intersected  by  canals,  sufficiently  so  to  have 
been  sometimes  called  a  "  Little  Venice/'  and  has  been 
fortified,  but  as  the  defenses  belong  to  the  system  of 
Vauban,  they  add  little  to  either  the  interest  or  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  place.  Parts  of  the  walls  and  the 
citadel  remain,  the  latter  being  enclosed  by  a  broad 
water-ditch.  The  principal  street  has  some  good  shops, 
and  there  are  two  fairly  large  piazzas ;  in  one,  bearing 
the  name  of  Carlo  Alberto,  are  statues  of  heroic  size  to 
the  last  Grand  Duke  and  to  his  predecessor.  The  in- 
scription on  the  latter  is  highly  flattering ;  but  that  on  the 
former  states  that  the  citizens  had  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  continuance  of  the  Austro-Lorenese  dy- 
nasty was  incompatible  with  the  good  order  and  happi- 
ness of  Tuscany,  and  had  accordingly  voted  union  with 
Italy.,  The  other  piazza  now  bears  Victor  Emmanuel's 
name ;  in  it  are  a  building  which  formerly  was  a  royal 
palace,  the  town  hall,  and  the  cathedral ;  the  last  a  fair- 
sized  church,  but  a  rather  plain  specimen  of  the  Renais- 
sance style,  with  some  handsome  columns  of  real  marble 
and  a  large  amount  of  imitation,  painted  to  match.  There 


202  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

are  also  some  remains  of  the  old  fortifications,  though 
they  are  not  so  very  old,  by  the  side  of  the  inner  or  orig- 
inal harbor.  As  this  in  course  of  time  proved  too  shal- 
low for  vessels  of  modern  bulk,  the  Porto  Nuovo,  or 
outer  harbor,  was  begun  nearly  fifty  years  since,  and  is 
protected  from  the  waves  by  a  semicircular  mole.  Among 
the  other  lions  of  the  place,  and  they  are  all  very  small, 
is  a  statue  of  Duke  Ferdinand  L,  one  of  the  founders  of 
Leghorn,  with  four  Turkish  slaves  about  the  pedestal. 
The  commerce  of  Leghorn  chiefly  consists  of  grain,  cot- 
ton, wool,  and  silk,  and  is  carried  on  mainly  with  the 
eastern  ports  of  the  Mediterranean.  There  is  also  an 
important  shipbuilding  establishment.  It  has,  however, 
one  link  of  interest  with  English  literature,  for  in  the 
Protestant  cemetery  was  buried  Tobias  Smollet.  There 
is  a  pleasant  public  walk  by  the  sea  margin  outside  the 
town,  from  where  distant  views  of  Elba  and  other  islands 
are  obtained. 

The  hilly  ground  south  of  the  broad  valley  of  the 
Arno  is  of  little  interest,  and  for  a  considerable  distance 
a  broad  strip  of  land,  a  level  plain  of  cornfields  and 
meadow,  intervenes  between  the  sea  and  the  foot  of  the 
hills.  Here  and  there  long  lines  of  pine  woods  seem 
almost  to  border  the  former ;  the  rounded  spurs  of  the 
latter  are  thickly  wooded,  but  are  capped  here  and  there 
by  grey  villages,  seemingly  surrounded  by  old  walls,  and 
are  backed  by  the  bolder  outlines  of  the  more  distant 
Apennines.  For  many  a  long  mile  this  kind  of  scenery 
will  continue,  this  flat,  marshy,  dyke-intersected  plain, 
almost  without  a  dwelling  upon  it,  though  village  after 
village  is  seen  perched  like  epaulettes  on  the  low  should- 
ers of  the  hills.  It  is  easy  to  understand  why  they  are 


ELBA  203 

placed  in  this  apparently  inconvenient  position,  for  we 
are  at  the  beginning  of  the  Tuscan  Maremma,  a  district 
scourged  by  malaria  during  the  summer  months,  and 
none  too  healthy,  if  one  may  judge  by  the  looks  of  the 
peasants,  during  any  time  of  the  year.  But  one  cannot 
fail  to  observe  that  towards  the  northern  extremity 
houses  have  become  fairly  common  on  this  plain,  and 
many  of  them  are  new,  so  that  the  efforts  which  have 
been  made  to  improve  the  district  by  draining  seem  to 
have  met  with  success.  For  some  time  the  seaward 
views  are  very  fine ;  comparatively  near  to  the  coast  a 
hilly  island  rises  steeply  from  the  water  and  is  crowned 
with  a  low  round  tower.  Behind  this  lies  Elba,  a  long, 
bold,  hilly  ridge,  and  far  away,  on  a  clear  day,  the  great 
mountain  mass  of  Corsica  looms  blue  in  the  distance. 

Elba  has  its  interests  for  the  geologist,  its  beauties  for 
the  lover  of  scenery.  It  has  quarries  of  granite  and  ser- 
pentine, but  its  fame  rests  on  its  iron  mines,  which  have 
been  noted  from  very  early  times  and  from  which  fine 
groups  of  crystals  of  hematite  are  still  obtained.  So 
famed  was  it  in  the  days  of  the  Roman  Empire  as  to  call 
forth  from  Virgil  the  well-known  line,  "  Insula  inex- 
haustis  chalybum  generosa  metallis."  When  these,  its 
masters,  had  long  passed  away,  it  belonged  in  turn  to 
Pisa,  to  Genoa,  to  Lucca,  and,  after  others,  to  the  Grand 
Duke  Cosimo  of  Florence.  Then  it  became  Neapolitan, 
and  at  last  French.  As  everyone  knows,  it  was  assigned 
to  Napoleon  after  his  abdication,  and  from  May,  1814, 
to  February,  1815,  he  enjoyed  the  title  of  King  of  Elba. 
Then,  while  discontent  was  deepening  in  France,  and 
ambassadors  were  disputing  round  the  Congress-table  at 
Vienna,  he  suddenly  gave  the  slip  to  the  vessels  which 


204  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

were  watching  the  coast  and  landed  in  France  to  march 
in  triumph  to  Paris,  to  be  defeated  at  Waterloo,  and  to 
die  at  St.  Helena. 

The  island  is  for  the  most  part  hilly,  indeed  almost 
mountainous,  for  it  rises  at  one  place  nearly  three  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  sea.  The  valleys  and  lower  slopes 
are  rich  and  fertile,  producing  good  fruit  and  fair  wine, 
and  the  views  are  often  of  great  beauty.  The  fisheries 
are  of  some  importance,  especially  that  of  the  tunny. 
Porto  Ferrajo,  the  chief  town,  is  a  picturesquely  situated 
place,  on  the  northern  side,  which  still  retains  the  forts 
built  by  Cosimo  I.  to  defend  his  newly  obtained  territory, 
and  the  mansion,  a  very  modest  palace,  inhabited  by 
Napoleon. 

"  It  must  be  confessed  my  isle  is  very  little,"  was 
Napoleon's  remark  when  for  the  first  time  he  looked 
around  over  his  kingdom  from  a  mountain  summit  above 
Porto  Ferrajo.  Little  it  is  in  reality,  for  the  island  is 
not  much  more  than  fifteen  miles  long,  and  at  the  widest 
part  ten  miles  across ;  and  truly  little  it  must  have  seemed 
to  the  man  who  had  dreamed  of  Europe  for  his  empire, 
and  had  half  realized  his  vision.  Nevertheless,  as  one 
of  his  historians  remarks,  "If  an  empire  could  be 
supposed  to  exist  within  such  a  brief  space,  Elba 
possesses  so  much  both  of  beauty  and  variety  as 
might  constitute  the  scene  of  a  summer  night's  dream  of 
sovereignty." 

At  first  he  professed  to  be  "  perfectly  resigned  to  his 
fate,  often  spoke  of  himself  as  a  man  politically  dead, 
and  claimed  credit  for  what  he  said  on  public  affairs,  as 
having  no  remaining  interest  in  them."  A  comment  on 
himself  in  connection  with  Elba  is  amusing.  He  had 
been  exploring  his  new  domain  in  the  company  of  Sir 


NAPOLEON  205 

Niel  Campbell,  and  had  visited,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
the  iron  mines.  On  being  informed  that  they  were  valu- 
able, and  brought  in  a  revenue  of  about  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  per  annum,  "  These  then,"  he  said,  "  are 
mine."  But  being  reminded  that  he  had  conferred  that 
revenue  on  the  Legion  of  Honor,  he  exclaimed,  "  Where 
was  my  head  when  I  made  such  a  grant?  But  I  have 
made  many  foolish  decrees  of  that  sort!" 

He  set  to  work  at  once  to  explore  every  corner  of  the 
island,  and  then  to  design  a  number  of  improvements  and 
alterations  on  a  scale  which,  had  they  been  carried  into 
execution  with  the  means  which  he  possessed,  would 
have  perhaps  taken  his  lifetime  to  execute.  The  in- 
stinct of  the  conqueror  was  by  no  means  dead  within 
him ;  for  "  one  of  his  first,  and  perhaps  most  characteris- 
tic, proposals  was  to  aggrandize  and  extend  his  Lillipu- 
tian dominions  by  the  occupation  of  an  uninhabited  is- 
land called  Pianosa,  which  had  been  left  desolate  on 
account  of  the  frequent  descents  of  the  corsairs.  He 
sent  thirty  of  his  guards,  with  ten  of  the  independent 
company  belonging  to  the  island,  upon  this  expedition 
(what  a  contrast  to  those  which  he  had  formerly 
directed!),  sketched  out  a  plan  of  fortification,  and  re- 
marked with  complacency,  *  Europe  will  say  that  I  have 
already  made  a  conquest.' '' 

He  was  after  a  short  time  joined  on  the  island  by  his 
mother  and  his  sister  Pauline,  and  not  a  few  of  those 
who  had  once  fought  under  his  flag  drifted  gradually 
to  Elba  and  took  service  in  his  guards.  A  plot  was 
organized  in  France,  and  when  all  was  ready  Napoleon 
availed  himself  of  the  temporary  absence  of  Sir  Neil 
Campbell  and  of  an  English  cruiser  and  set  sail  from 
Elba. 


206  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

At  four  in  the  afternoon  of  Sunday,  the  26th  of  Febru- 
ary, "  a  signal  gun  was  fired,  the  drums  beat  to  arms, 
the  officers  tumbled  what  they  could  of  their  effects  into 
flour-sacks,  the  men  arranged  their  knapsacks,  the  em- 
barkation began,  and  at  eight  in  the  evening  they  were 
under  weigh."  He  had  more  than  one  narrow  escape 
on  his  voyage;  for  he  was  hailed  by  a  French  frigate. 
His  soldiers,  however,  had  concealed  themselves,  and  his 
captain  was  acquainted  with  the  commander  of  the 
frigate,  so  no  suspicions  were  excited.  Sir  Niel  Camp- 
bell also,  as  soon  as  he  found  out  what  had  happened, 
gave  chase  in  a  sloop  of  war,  but  only  arrived  in  time 
to  obtain  a  distant  view  of  Napoleon's  flotilla  as  its 
passengers  landed. 

Pianosa,  the  island  mentioned  above,  lies  to  the  north 
of  Elba,  and  gets  its  name  from  its  almost  level  surface ; 
for  the  highest  point  is  said  to  be  only  eighty  feet  above 
the  sea.  Considering  its  apparent  insignificance,  it 
figures  more  than  could  be  expected  in  history.  The  ill- 
fated  son  of  Marcus  Agrippa  was  banished  here  by  Au- 
gustus, at  the  instigation  of  Livia,  and  after  a  time  was 
more  effectually  put  out  of  the  way,  in  order  to  secure 
the  succession  of  her  son  Tiberius.  We  read  also  that 
it  was  afterwards  the  property  of  Marcus  Piso,  who 
used  it  as  a  preserve  for  peacocks,  which  were  here  as 
wild  as  pheasants  with  us.  Some  remnants  of  Roman 
baths  still  keep  up  the  memory  of  its  former  masters. 
Long  afterwards  it  became  a  bone  of  contention  between 
Pisa  and  Genoa,  and  the  latter  State,  on  permitting  the 
former  to  resume  possession  of  these  islands  of  the  Tus- 
can Archipelago,  stipulated  that  Pianosa  should  be  left 
forever  uncultivated  and  deserted.  To  secure  the  execu- 


CAPRAJA  207 

tion  of  this  engagement  the  Genoese  stopped  up  all  the 
wells  with  huge  blocks  of  rock. 

Capraja,  a  lovely  island  to  the  northwest  of  Elba,  is 
rather  nearer  to  Corsica  than  to  Italy.  Though  less  than 
four  miles  long,  and  not  half  this  breadth,  it  rivals  either 
in  hilliness,  for  its  ridges  rise  in  two  places  more  than 
fourteen  hundred  feetfrabove  the  sea.  Saracen,  Genoese, 
Pisan,  and  Corsican  have  caused  it  in  bygone  times  to 
lead  a  rather  troubled  existence,  and  even  so  late  as  1796 
Nelson  knocked  to  pieces  the  fort  which  defended  its 
harbor,  and  occupied  the  island. 

'  The  '  stagno,'  or  lagoon,  the  sea-marsh  of  Strabo,  is 
a  vast  expanse  of  stagnant  salt  water,  so  shallow  that  it 
may  be  forded  in  parts,  yet  never  dried  up  by  the  hottest 
summer ;  the  curse  of  the  country  around  for  the  foul 
and  pestilent  vapour  and  the  swarms  of  mosquitoes  and 
other  insects  it  generates  at  that  season,  yet  compensat- 
ing the  inhabitants  with  an  abundance  of  fish.  The 
fishery  is  generally  carried  on  at  night,  and  in  the  way 
often  practiced  in  Italy  and  Sicily,  by  harpooning  the 
fish,  which  are  attracted  by  a  light  in  the  prow  of  the 
boat.  It  is  a  curious  sight  on  calm  nights  to  see  hun- 
dreds of  these  little  skiffs  or  canoes  wandering  about 
with  their  lights,  and  making  an  ever-moving  illumina- 
tion on  the  surface  of  the  lake."  * 

Elba  seems  to  maintain  some  relation  with  the  main- 
land by  means  of  the  hilly  promontory  which  supports 
the  houses  of  Piombino,  a  small  town,  chiefly  interesting 
as  being  at  no  great  distance  from  Populonia,  an  old 
Etruscan  city  of  which  some  considerable  ruins  still  re- 

*  Dennis:  "Cities  of  Etruria." 


208  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

main.    Here,  when  the  clans  gathered  to  bring  back  the 
Tarquins  to  Rome,  stood 

"  Sea-girt  Populonia, 
Whose  sentinels  descry 
Sardinia's  snowy  mountain  tops 
Fringing  the  southern  sky." 

But  long  after  Lars  Porsenna  of  Clusium  had  retreated 
baffled  from  the  broken  bridge  Populonia  continued  to 
be  a  place  of  some  importance,  for  it  has  a  castle  erected 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  But  now  it  is  only  a  poor  village; 
it  retains,  however,  fragments  of  building  recalling  its 
Roman  masters,  and  its  walls  of  polygonal  masonry 
carry  us  back  to  the  era  of  the  Etruscans. 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  almost  the  whole  of  the 
coast  line  described  in  this  chapter,  from  the  river  Magra 
to  Civita  Vecchia,  belonged  to  that  mysterious  and,  not 
so  long  since,  almost  unknown  people,  the  Etruscans. 
Indeed,  at  one  time  their  sway  extended  for  a  consider- 
able distance  north  and  south  of  these  limits.  Even  now 
there  is  much  dispute  as  to  their  origin,  but  they  were 
a  powerful  and  civilized  race  before  Rome  was  so  much 
as  founded.  They  strove  with  it  for  supremacy  in  Italy, 
and  were  not  finally  subdued  by  that  nation  until  the 
third  century  before  our  era.  "  Etruria  was  of  old 
densely  populated,  not  only  in  those  parts  which  are  still 
inhabited,  but  also,  as  is  proved  by  remains  of  cities  and 
cemeteries,  in  tracts  now  desolated  by  malaria  and  re- 
lapsed into  the  desert ;  and  what  is  now  the  fen  or  the 
jungle,  the  haunt  of  the  wild  boar,  the  buffalo,  the  fox, 
and  the  noxious  reptile,  where  man  often  dreads  to  stay 
his  steps,  and  hurries  away  from  a  plague-stricken  land, 
of  old  yielded  rich  harvests  of  corn,  wine  and  oil,  and 


ETRURIA  209 

contained  numerous  cities  mighty  and  opulent,  into 
whose  laps  commerce  poured  the  treasures  of  the  East 
and  the  more  precious  produce  of  Hellenic  genius.  Most 
of  these  ancient  sites  are  now  without  a  habitant,  fur- 
rowed yearly  by  the  plough,  or  forsaken  as  unprofitable 
wilderness ;  and  such  as  are  still  occupied  are,  with  few 
exceptions,  mere  phantoms  of  their  pristine  greatness, 
mere  villages  in  the  place  of  populous  cities.  On  every 
hand  are  traces  of  bygone  civilization,  inferior  in  quality, 
no  doubt,  to  that  which  at  present  exists  but  much  wider 
in  extent  and  exerting  far  greater  influence  on  the  neigh- 
boring nations  and  on  the  destinies  of  the  world."  * 

South  of  this  headland  the  Maremma  proper  begins. 
Follonica,  the  only  place  for  some  distance  which  can 
be  called  a  town,  is  blackened  with  smoke  to  an  extent 
unusual  in  Italy,  for  here  much  of  the  iron  ore  from 
Elba  is  smelted.  But  the  views  in  the  neighborhood, 
notwithstanding  the  flatness  of  the  marshy  or  scrub- 
covered  plain,  are  not  without  a  charm.  The  inland  hills 
are  often  attractive ;  to  the  north  lie  the  headland  of 
Piombino  and  sea-girt  Elba,  to  the  south  the  promontory 
of  Castiglione,  which  ends  in  a  lower  line  of  bluff  capped 
by  a  tower,  and  the  irregular  little  island  of  Formica.  At 
Castiglione  della  Pescaia  is  a  little  harbor,  once  fortified, 
which  exports  wool  and  charcoal,  the  products  of  the 
neighboring  hills.  The  promontory  of  Castiglione  must 
once  have  been  an  island,  for  it  is  parted  from  the  inland 
range  by  the  level  plain  of  the  Maremma.  Presently 
Grosseto,  the  picturesque  capital  of  the  Maremma,  ap- 
pears, perched  on  steeply  rising  ground  above  the  enclos- 
ing plain,  its  sky-line  relieved  by  a  couple  of  low  towers 
and  a  dome ;  it  has  been  protected  with  defenses,  which 

*  Dennis:  "Cities  of  Etruria,"  I.,  p.  xxxii. 


210  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

date  probably  from  late  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
Then,  after  the  Omborne  has  been  crossed,  one  of  the 
rivers,  which  issue  from  the  Apennines,  the  promontory 
of  Talamone  comes  down  to  the  sea,  protecting  the  vil- 
lage of  the  same  name.  It  is  a  picturesque  little  place, 
overlooked  by  an  old  castle,  and  the  anchorage  is  shel- 
tered by  the  island  of  S.  Giglio,  quiet  enough  now,  but 
the  guide-book  tells  us  that  here,  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  before  the  Christian  era,  the  Roman 
troops  disembarked  and  scattered  an  invading  Gaulish 
army.  But  to  the  south  lies  another  promontory  on  a 
larger  scale  than  Tlamone ;  this  is  the  Monte  Argen- 
tario,  the  steep  slopes  of  which  are  a  mass  of  forests. 
The  views  on  this  part  of  the  coast  are  exceptionally 
attractive.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  anything 
more  striking  than  the  situation  of  Orbitello.  The  town 
lies  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  for  Argentario,  since  it 
rises  full  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and  is  bold 
in  outline,  deserves  the  name.  It  is  almost  separated 
from  the  mainland  by  a  great  salt-water  lagoon,  which  is 
bounded  on  each  side  by  two  low  and  narrow  strips  of 
land.  The  best  view  is  from  the  south,  where  we  look 
across  a  curve  of  the  sea  to  the  town  and  to  Monte  Ar- 
gentario with  its  double  summit,  which,  as  the  border  of 
the  lagoon  is  so  low,  seems  to  be  completely  insulated. 

Orbitello  is  clearly  proved  to  have  been  an  Etruscan 
town ;  perhaps,  according  to  Mr.  Dennis,  founded  by  the 
Pelasgi,  "  for  the  foundations  of  the  sea-wall  which  sur- 
rounds it  on  three  sides  are  of  vast  polygonal  blocks,  just 
such  as  are  seen  in  many  ancient  sites  of  central  Italy 
(Norba,  Segni,  Palsestrina,  to  wit),  and  such  as  com- 
pose the  walls  of  the  neighboring  Cosa."  Tombs  of 
Etruscan  construction  have  also  been  found  in  the  imme- 


ORBITELLO  211 

diate  neighborhood  of  the  city,  on  the  isthmus  of  sand 
which  connects  it  with  the  mainland.  Others  also  have 
been  found  within  the  circuit  of  the  walls.  The  tombs 
have  been  unusually  productive ;  in  part,  no  doubt,  be- 
cause they  appear  to  have  escaped  earlier  plunderers. 
Vases,  numerous  articles  in  bronze,  and  gold  ornaments 
of  great  beauty  have  been  found.  Of  the  town  itself, 
which  from  the  distance  has  a  very  picturesque  aspect, 
Mr.  Dennis  says :  "  It  is  a  place  of  some  size,  having 
nearly  six  thousand  inhabitants,  and  among  Maremma 
towns  is  second  only  to  Grosseto.  It  is  a  proof  how 
much  population  tends  to  salubrity  in  the  Maremma  that 
Orbitello,  though  in  the  midst  of  a  stagnant  lagoon  ten 
square  miles  in  extent,  is  comparatively  healthy,  and  has 
more  than  doubled  its  population  in  thirty  years,  while 
Telamona  and  other  small  places  along  the  coast  are 
almost  deserted  in  summer,  and  the  few  people  that  re- 
main become  bloated  like  wine-skins  or  yellow  as  lizards." 
But  the  inland  district  is  full  of  ruins  and  remnants  of 
towns  which  in  many  cases  were  strongholds  long  before 
Romulus  traced  out  the  lines  of  the  walls  of  Rome  with 
his  plough,  if  indeed  that  ever  happened.  Ansedonia,  the 
ancient  Cosa,  is  a  very  few  miles  away,  Rusellse,  Saturnia, 
Sovana  at  a  considerably  greater  distance ;  farther  to  the 
south  rises  another  of  these  forest-clad  ridges  which, 
whether  insulated  by  sea  or  by  fen,  are  so  characteristic 
of  this  portion  of  the  Italian  coast.  Here  the  old  walls 
of  Corno,  another  Etruscan  town,  may  be  seen  to  rise 
above  the  olive-trees  and  the  holm-oaks. 

Beyond  this  the  lowland  becomes  more  undulating, 
and  the  foreground  scenery  a  little  less  monotonous. 
Corneto  now  appears,  crowning  a  gently  shelving  pla- 
teau at  the  end  of  a  spur  from  the  inland  hills,  which  is 


212  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

guarded  at  last  by  a  line  of  cliffs.  Enclosed  by  a  ring  of 
old  walls,  like  Cortona,  it  "  lifts  to  heaven  a  diadem  of 
towers."  In  site  and  in  aspect  it  is  a  typical  example  of 
one  of  the  old  cities  of  Etruria.  Three  hundred  feet  and 
more  above  the  plain  which  parts  it  from  the  sea,  with 
the  gleaming  water  full  in  view  on  one  side  and  the 
forest-clad  ranges  on  the  other,  the  outlook  is  a  charm- 
ing one,  and  the  attractions  within  its  walls  are  by  no 
means  slight.  There  are  several  old  churches,  and  nu- 
merous Etruscan  and  Roman  antiquities  are  preserved  in 
the  municipal  museum.  The  town  itself,  however,  is  not 
of  Etruscan  origin,  its  foundation  dates  only  from  the 
Middle  Ages ;  but  on  an  opposite  and  yet  more  insulated 
hill  the  ruins  of  Tarquinii,  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the 
Etrurian  League,  can  still  be  traced ;  hardly  less  import- 
ant than  Veii,  one  of  the  most  active  cities  in  the  en- 
deavor to  restore  the  dynasty  of  the  Tarquins.  it  con- 
tinued to  flourish  after  it  had  submitted  to  Rome,  but  it 
declined  in  the  dark  days  which  followed  the  fall  of  the 
Empire,  and  never  held  up  its  head  after  it  had  been 
sacked  by  the  Saracens,  till  at  last  it  was  deserted  for 
Corneto,  and  met  the  usual  fate  of  becoming  a  quarry 
for  the  new  town.  Only  the  remnants  of  buildings  and 
of  its  defenses  are  now  visible ;  but  the  great  necropolis 
which  lies  to  the  southeast  of  the  Corneto,  and  on  the 
same  spur  with  it,  has  yielded  numerous  antiquities.  A 
romantic  tale  of  its  discovery,  so  late  as  1823,  is  related 
in  the  guide-books.  A  native  of  Corneto  in  digging  acci- 
dentally broke  into  a  tomb.  Through  the  hole  he  beheld 
the  figure  of  a  warrior  extended  at  length,  accoutred  in 
full  armour-  For  a  few  minutes  he  gazed  astonished, 
then  the  form  of  the  dead  man  vanished  almost  like  a 
ghost,  for  it  crumbled  into  dust  under  the  influence  of  the 


CIVITA    VECCHIA  213 

fresh  air.  Numerous  subterranean  chambers  have  since 
been  opened;  the  contents,  vases,  bronzes,  gems  and  or- 
nanients,  have  been  removed  to  museums  or  scattered 
among  the  cabinets  of  collectors,  but  the  mural  paintings 
still  remain.  They  are  the  works  of  various  periods  from 
the  sixth  to  the  second  or  third  century  before  the  Chris- 
tian era,  and  are  indicative  of  the  influence  exercised  by 
Greek  art  on  the  earlier  inhabitants  of  Italy. 

As  the  headland,  crowned  by  the  walls  of  Corneto,  re- 
cedes into  the  distance  a  little  river  is  crossed,  which, 
unimportant  as  it  seems,  has  a  place  in  ecclesiastical 
legend,  for  we  are  informed  that  at  the  Torre  Bertaldo, 
near  its  mouth,  an  angel  dispelled  St.  Augustine's  doubts 
on  the  subject  of  the  Trinity.  Then  the  road  approaches 
the  largest  port  on  the  coast  since  Leghorn  was  left.  \^ 
Civita  Vecchia,  as  the  name  implies,  is  an  old  town, 
which,  after  the  decline  of  Ostia,  served  for  centuries  as 
the  port  of  Rome.  It  was  founded  by  Trajan,  and  some- 
times bore  his  name  in  olden  time,  but  there  is  little  or 
nothing  within  the  walls  to  indicate  so  great  an  antiquity. 
It  was  harried,  like  so  many  other  places  near  the  coast, 
by  the  Saracens,  and  for  some  years  was  entirely  deserted, 
but  about  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century  the  inhabitants 
returned  to  it,  and  the  town,  which  then  acquired  its  pres- 
ent name,  by  degrees  grew  into  importance  as  the  tem- 
poral power  of  the  Papacy  increased.  If  there  is  little  to 
induce  the  traveller  to  halt,  there  is  not  much  more  to 
tempt  the  artist.  Civita  Vecchia  occupies  a  very  low  and  ' 
faintly  defined  headland.  Its  houses  are  whitish  in  color, 
square  in  outline,  and  rather  flat-topped.  There  are  no 
conspicuous  towers  or  domes.  It  was  once  enclosed  by 
fortifications,  built  at  various  dates  about  the  seventeenth 
century.  These,  however,  have  been  removed  on  the 


THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

land  side,  but  still  remain  fairly  perfect  in  the  neighbor- 
hood  of  the  harbor,  the  entrance  to  which  is  protected 
by  a  small  island,  from  which  rises  a  low  massive  tower 
and  a  high  circular  pharos.  There  is  neither  animation 
nor  commerce  left  in  the  place ;  what  little  there  was  dis- 
appeared when  the  railway  was  opened.  It  is  living  up 
to  its  name,  and  its  old  age  cannot  be  called  vigorous. 

South  of  Civita  Vecchia  the  coast  region,  though  often 
monotonous  enough,  becomes  for  a  time  slightly  more 
diversified.  There  is  still  some  marshy  ground,  still  some 
level  plain,  but  the  low  and  gently  rolling  hills  which 
border  the  main  mass  of  the  Apennines  extend  at  times 
down  to  the  sea,  and  even  diversify  its  coast-line,  broken 
by  a  low  headland.  This  now  and  again,  as  at  Santa 
Marinella,  is  crowned  by  an  old  castle.  All  around  much 
evergreen  scrub  is  seen,  here  growing  in  tufts  among 
tracts  of  coarse  herbage,  there  expanding  into  actual 
thickets  of  considerable  extent,  and  the  views  sometimes 
become  more  varied,  and  even  pretty.  Santa  Severa,  a 
large  castle  built  of  grey  stone,  with  its  keep-like  group 
of  higher  towers  on  its  low  crag  overlooking  the  sea, 
reminds  us  of  some  old  fortress  on  the  Fifeshire  coast. 
Near  this  headland,  so  antiquarians  say,  was  Pyrgos, 
once  the  port  of  the  Etruscan  town  of  Caere,  which  lies 
away  among  the  hills  at  a  distance  of  some  half-dozen 
miles.  Here  and  there  also  a  lonely  old  tower  may  be 
noticed  along  this  part  of  the  coast.  These  recall  to  mind 
in  their  situation,  though  they  are  more  picturesque  in 
their  aspect,  the  Martello  Towers  on  the  southern  coast 
of  England.  Like  them,  they  are  a  memorial  of  troub- 
lous times,  when  the  invader  was  dreaded.  They  were 
erected  to  protect  the  Tuscan  coast  from  the  descents  of 


THE    TIBER  215 

the  -Moors,  who  for  centuries  we're  the  dread  of  the  Med- 
iterranean. Again  and  again  these  corsairs  swooped 
down ;  now  a  small  flotilla  would  attack  some  weakly 
defended  town ;  now  a  single  ship  would  land  its  boat- 
load of  pirates  on  some  unguarded  beach  to  plunder  a 
neighboring  village  or  a  few  scattered  farms,  and  would 
retreat  from  the  raid  with  a  little  spoil  and  a  small  band 
of  captives,  doomed  to  slavery,  leaving  behind  smoking 
ruins  and  bleeding  corpses.  It  is  strange  to  think  how 
long  it  was  before  perfect  immunity  was  secured  from 
these  curses  of  the  Mediterranean.  England,  whatever 
her  enemies  may  say,  has  done  a  few  good  deeds  in  her 
time,  and  one  of  the  best  was  when  her  fleet,  under  the 
command  of  Admiral  Pellew,  shattered  the  forts  of  Al- 
giers and  burnt  every  vessel  of  the  pirate  fleet. 

The  scenery  for  a -time  continues  to  improve.  The 
oak  woods  become  higher,  the  inland  hills  are  more 
varied  in  outline  and  are  forest-clad.  Here  peeps  out  a 
crag,  there  a  village  or  a  castle.  At  Palo  a  large,  unat- 
tractive villa  and  a  picturesque  old  castle  overlook  a  fine 
line  of  sea-beach,  where  the  less  wealthy  classes  in  Rome 
come  down  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  in  the  hot  days  of 
summer.  It  also  -marks  the  site  of  Alsium,  where,  in 
Roman  times,  one  or  two  personages  of  note,  of  whom 
Pompey  was  the  most  important,  had  country  residences. 
For  a  time  there  is  no  more  level  plain ;  the  land  every- 
where shelves  gently  to  the  sea,  covered  with  wood  or 
with  coarse  herbage.  But  before  long  there  is  another 
change,  and  the  great  plain  of  the  Tiber  opens  out  before 
our  eyes,  extending  on  one  hand  to  the  not  distant  sea, 
on  the  other  to  the  hills  of  Rome.  It  is  flat,  dreary,  and 
unattractive,  at  any  rate  in  the  winter  season,  as  is  the 


216  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

valley  of  the  Nen  below  Peterborough,  or  of  the  Witham 
beyond  the  Lincolnshire  wolds.  It  is  cut  up  by  dykes, 
which  are  Bordered  by  low  banks.  Here  and  there  herds 
of  mouse-colored  oxen  with  long  horns  are  feeding,  and 
hay-ricks,  round  with  low  conical  tops,  are  features  more 
conspicuous  than  cottages.  The  Tiber  winds  on  its  ser- 
pentine course  through  this  fenland  plain,  a  muddy 
stream,  which  it  was  complimentary  for  the  Romans  to 
designate  flaws,  unless  that  word  meant  a  color  anything 
but  attractive.  One  low  tower  in  the  distance  marks  the 
site  of  Porto,  another  that  of  Ostia  and  near  the  latter  a 
long  grove  of  pines  is  a  welcome  variation  to  the  mo- 
notony of  the  landscape. 

These  two  towns  have  had  their  day  of  greatness.  The 
former,  as  its  name  implies,  was  once  the  port  of  Rome, 
and  in  the  early  days  of  Christianity  was  a  place  of  note. 
It  was  founded  by  Trajan,  in  the  neighborhood  of  a  har- 
bor constructed  by  Claudius  ;  for  this,  like  that  of  Ostia, 
which  it  was  designed  to  replace,  was  already  becom- 
ing choked  up.  But  though  emperors  may  propose,  a 
river  disposes,  especially  when  its  mud  is  in  question. 
The  port  of  Trajan  has  long  since  met  with  the  same 
fate ;  it  is  now  only  a  shallow  basin  two  miles  from  the 
sea.  Of  late  years  considerable  excavations  have  been 
made  at  Porto  on  the  estate  of  Prince  Tortonia,  to  whom 
the  whole  site  belongs.  The  port  constructed  by  Trajan 
was  hexagonal  in  form ;  it  was  surrounded  by  warehouses 
and  communicated  with  the  sea  by  a  canal.  Between  it 
and  the  outer  or  Claudian  port  a  palace  was  built  for 
the  emperor,  and  the  remains  of  the  wall  erected  by  Con- 
stantine  to  protect  the  harbor  on  the  side  of  the  land 
can  still  be  seen.  The  only  'mediaeval  antiquities  which 
Porto  contains  are  the  old  castle,  which  serves  as  the 


OSTIA  217 

episcopal  palace,  and  the  flower  of  the  church  of  Santa 
Rufina,  which  is  at  least  as  old  as  the  tenth  century. 

Ostia,  which  is  a  place  of  much  greater  antiquity  than 
Porto,  is  not  so  deserted,  though  its  star  declined  as  that 
of  the  other  rose.  Founded,  as  some  say,  by  Ancus 
Martius,  it  was  the  port  of  Rome  until  the  first  century 
of  the  present  era.  Then  the  silting  up  of  its  communi- 
cation with  the  sea  caused  the  transference  of  the  com- 
merce to  Porto,  but  "  the  fame  of  the  temple  of  Castor 
and  Pollux,  the  numerous  villas  of  the  Roman  patricians 
abundantly  scattered  along  the  coast,  and  the  crowds  of 
people  who  frequented  its  shores  for  the  benefit  of  sea 
bathing,  sustained  the  prosperity  of  the  city  for  some 
time  after  the  destruction  of  its  harbor."  But  at  last  it 
went  down  hill,  and  then  invaders  came.  Once  it  had 
contained  eighty  thousand  inhabitants ;  in  the  days  of 
the  Medici  it  was  a  poor  village,  and  the  people  eked 
out  their  miserable  existences  by  making  lime  of  the 
marbles  of  the  ruined  temples !  So  here  the  vandalism 
of  peasants,  even  more  than  of  patricians,  has  swept 
away  many  a  choice  relic  of  classic  days.  Villas  and 
temples  alike  have  been  destroyed ;  the  sea  is  now  at  a 
distance ;  Ostia  is  but  a  small  village,  i4  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  though  melancholy  sites  near  Rome,"  but 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  present  century  careful 
excavations  have  been  made,  many  valuable  art  treas- 
ures have  been  unearthed,  and  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  ancient  city  has  been  laid  bare.  Shops  and  dwell- 
ings, temples  and  baths,  the  theater  and  the  forum,  with 
many  a  remnant  of  the  ancient  town,  can  now  be  ex- 
amined, and  numerous  antiquities  of  smaller  size  are 
preserved  in  the  museum  at  the  old  castle.  This,  with 
its  strong  bastions,  its  lofty  circular  tower  and  huge 


218  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

machicolations,  is  a  very  striking  object  as  it  rises  above 
the  plain  "  massive  and  gray  against  the  sky-line."  It 
has  been  drawn  by  artists  not  a  few,  from  Raffaelle,  who 
saw  it  when  it  had  not  very  long  been  completed,  down 
to  the  present  time. 


VENICE 

Its  early  days — The  Grand  Canal  and  its  palaces — Piazza  of 
St.  Mark — A  Venetian  funeral — The  long  line  of  islands — 
Venetian  glass — Torcello,  the  ancient  Altinum — Its  two 
unique  churches. 

O  long  as  Venice  is  unvisited  a  new  sensation  is 
among  the  possibilities  of  life.  There  is  no  town 
like  it  in  Europe.  Amsterdam  has  its  canals,  but 
Venice  is  all  canals ;  Genoa  has  its  palaces,  but  in  Venice 
they  are  more  numerous  and  more  beautiful.  Its  situation 
is  unique,  on  a  group  of  islands  in  the  calm  lagoon.  But 
the  Venice  of  to-day  is  not  the  Venice  of  thirty  years  ago. 
Even  then  a  little  of  the  old  romance  had  gone,  for  a 
long  railway  viaduct  had  linked  it  to  the  mainland.  In 
earlier  days  it  could  be  reached  only  by  a  boat,  for  a 
couple  of  miles  of  salt  water  lay  between  the  city  and 
the  marshy  border  of  the  Paduan  delta.  Now  Venice  is 
still  more  changed,  and  for  the  worse.  The  people  seem 
more  poverty-stricken  and  pauperized.  Its  buildings 
generally,  especially  the  ordinary  houses,  look  more  dingy 
and  dilapidated.  The  paint  seems  more  chipped,  the 
plaster  more  peeled,  the  brickwork  more  rotten ;  every- 
thing seems  to  tell  of  decadence,  commercial  and  moral, 
rather  than  of  regeneration.  In  the  case  of  the  more  im- 
portant structures,  indeed,  the  effects  of  time  have  often 

319 


220  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

been  more  than  repaired.  Here  a  restoration,  not  seldom 
needless  and  ill-judged,  has  marred  some  venerable  relic 
of  olden  days  with  crude  patches  of  color,  due  to  mod- 
ern reproductions  of  the  ancient  and  original  work:  the 
building  has  suffered,  as  it  must  be  admitted  not  a  few  of 
our  own  most  precious  heirlooms  have  suffered,  from  the 
results  of  zeal  untempered  by  discretion,  and  the  de- 
stroyer has  worked  his  will  under  the  guise  of  the  re- 
storer. 

The  mosquito  flourishes  still  in  Venice  as  it  did  of  yore. 
It  would  be  too  much  to  expect  that  the  winged  repre- 
sentative of  the  genus  should  thrive  less  in  Italian  free- 
dom than  under  Austrian  bondage,  but  something  might 
have  been  done  to  extirpate  the  two-legged  species.  He 
is  present  in  force  in  most  towns  south  of  the  Alps,  but 
he  is  nowhere  so  abundant  or  so  exasperating  as  in  Ven- 
ice, If  there  is  one  place  in  one  town  in  Europe  where 
the  visitor  might  fairly  desire  to  possess  his  soul  in 
peace  and  to  gaze  in  thoughtful  wonder,  it  is  in  the  great 
piazza,  in  front  of  the  fagade,  strange  and  beautiful  as  a 
dream,  of  the  duomo  of  St.  Mark.  Halt  there  and  try 
to  feast  on  its  marvels,  to  worship  in  silence  and  in 
peace.  Vain  illusion.  There  is  no  crowd  of  hurrying 
vehicles  or  throng  of  hurrying  men  to  interfere  of  neces- 
sity with  your  visions  (there  are  often  more  pigeons 
than  people  in  the  piazza),  but  up  crawls  a  beggar,  in 
garments  vermin-haunted,  whining  for  "  charity " ; 
down  swoop  would-be  guides,  volunteering  useless  sug- 
gestions in  broken  and  barely  intelligible  English  ;  from 
this  side  and  from  that  throng  vendors  of  rubbish,  shell- 
ornaments,  lace,  paltry  trinkets,  and  long  ribands  of 
photographic  "  souvenirs,"  appalling  in  their  ugliness. 
He  who  can  stand  five  minutes  before  San  Marco  and 


THE    ISLANDS  221 

retain  a  catholic  love  of  mankind  must  indeed  be  blessed 
with  a  temper  of  much  more  than  average  amiability. 

The  death  of  Rome  was  indirectly  the  birth  of  Venice. 
Here  in  the  great  days  of  the  Empire  there  was  not,  so  far 
as  we  know,  even  a  village.  Invaders  came,  the  Adriatic 
littoral  was  wrecked ;  its  salvage  is  to  be  found  among 
the  islands  of  the  lagoons.  Aquileia  went  up  in  flames, 
the  cities  of  the  Paduan  delta  trembled  before  the  hordes 
of  savage  Huns,  but  the  islands  of  its  coast  held  out  a 
hope  of  safety.  What  in  those  days  these  camps  of 
refuge  must  have  been  can  be  inferred  from  the  islands 
which  now  border  the  mainland,  low,  marshy,  overgrown 
by  thickets,  and  fringed  by  reeds ;  they  were  unhealthy, 
but  only  accessible  by  intricate  and  difficult  channels, 
and  with  little  to  tempt  the  spoiler.  It  was  better  to  risk 
fever  in  the  lagoons  than  to  be  murdered  or  driven  off 
into  slavery  on  the  mainland.  It  was  some  time  before 
Venice  took  the  lead  among  these  scattered  settlements. 
It  became  the  center  of  government  in  the  year  810,  but 
it  was  well-nigh  two  centuries  before  the  Venetian  State 
attained  to  any  real  eminence.  Towards  this,  the  first 
and  perhaps  the  most  important  step  was  crushing  the 
Istrian  and  Dalmatian  pirates.  This  enabled  the  Re- 
public to  become  a  great  "  Adriatic  and  Oriental  Com- 
pany," and  to  get  into  their  hands  the  carrying  trade  to 
the  East.  The  men  of  Venice  were  both  brave  and 
shrewd,  something  like  our  Elizabethan  forefathers, 
mighty  on  sea  and  land,  but  men  of  understanding  also 
in  the  arts  of  peace.  She  did  battle  with  Genoa  for 
commercial  supremacy,  with  the  Turk  for  existence.  She 
was  too  strong  for  the  former,  but  the  latter  at  last  wore 
her  out,  and  Lepanto  was  one  of  her  latest  and  least 
fruitful  triumphs.  Still,  it  was  not  till  the  end  of  the 


222  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

sixteenth  century  that  a  watchful  eye  could  detect  the 
symptons  of  senile  decay.  Then  Venice  tottered  gradu- 
ally to  its  grave.  Its  slow  disintegration  occupied  more 
than  a  century  and  a  half ;  but  the  French  Revolution  in- 
directly caused  the  collapse  of  Venice,  for. its  last  doge 
abdicated,  and  the  city  was  occupied  by  Napoleon  in 
1797.  After  his  downfall  Venetia  was  handed  over  to 
Austria,  and  found  in  the  Hapsburg  a  harsh  and  unsym- 
pathetic master.  It  made  a  vain  struggle  for  freedom  in 
1848,  but  was  at  last  ceded  to  Italy  after  the  Austro- 
Prussian  war  in  1866. 

The  city  is  built  upon  a  group  of  islands ;  its  houses  are 
founded  on  piles,  for  there  is  no  really  solid  ground. 
How  far  the  present  canals  correspond  with  the  original 
channels  between  small  islands,  how  far  they  are  artificial, 
it  is  difficult  to  say ;  but  whether  the  original  islets  were 
few  or  many,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they  were  form- 
erly divided  by  the  largest,  or  the  Grand  Canal,  the  Rio 
Alto  or  Deep  Stream.  This  takes  an  S-like  course,  and 
parts  the  city  roughly  into  two  halves.  The  side  canals, 
which  are  very  numerous,  for  the  town  is  said  to  occupy 
one  hundred  and  fourteen  islands,  are  seldom  wider, 
often  rather  narrower  than  a  by-street  in  the  City  of 
London.  In  Venice,  as  has  often  been  remarked,  not  a  cart 
or  a  carriage,  not  even  a  coster's  donkey-cart,  can  be  used. 
Streets  enough  there  are,  but  they  are  narrow  and 
twisting,  very  like  the  courts  in  the  heart  of  London. 
The  carriage,  the  cab,  and  the  omnibus  are  replaced  by 
the  gondolas.  These  it  is  needless  to  describe,  for  who 
does  not  know  them?  One  consequence  of  this  substi- 
tution of  canals  for  streets  is  that  the  youthful  Venetian 
takes  to  the  water  like  a  young  duck  to  a  pond,  and  does 
not  stand  much  on  ceremony. in  the  matter  of  taking  off 


FAMOUS    VIEWS  223 

his  clothes.  Turn  into  a  side  canal  on  a  summer's  day,  and 
one  may  see  the  younger  members  of  a  family  all  bathing 
from  their  own  doorstep,  the  smallest  one,  perhaps,  to 
prevent  accidents,  being  tied  by  a  cord  to  a  convenient 
ring;  nay,  sometimes  as  we  are  wandering  through  one 
of  the  narrow  calle  (alleys)  we  hear  a  soft  patter  of  feet, 
something  damp  brushes  past,  and  a  little  Venetian  lad, 
lithe  and  black-eyed,  bare-legged,  bare-backed,  and  all 
but  bare-breeched,  shoots  past  as  he  makes  a  short  cut 
to  his  clothes  across  a  block  of  buildings,  round  which 
he  cannot  yet  manage  to  swim. 

In  such  a  city  as  Venice  it  is  hard  to  praise  one  view 
above  another.  There  is  the  noble  sweep  of  the  Grand 
Canal,  with  its  palaces ;  there  are  many  groups  of  build- 
ings von  a  less  imposing  scale,  but  yet  more  picturesque, 
on  the  smaller  canals,  often  almost  every  turn  brings 
some  fresh  surprise ;  but  there  are  two  views  which  al- 
ways rise  up  in  my  mind  before  all  others  whenever  my 
thoughts  turn  to  Venice,  more  especially  as  it  used  to 
be.  One  is  the  view  of  the  fagade  of  San  Marco  from  the 
Piazza.  I  shall  make  no  apology  for  quoting  words  which 
describe  more  perfectly  than  my  powers  permit  the  im- 
pressions awakened  by  this  dream-like  architectural  con- 
ception. "  Beyond  those  troops  of  ordered  arches  there 
rises  a  vision  out  of  the  earth,  and  all  the  great  square 
seems  to  have  opened  from  it  in  a  kind  of  awe,  that  we 
may  see  it  far  away :  a  multitude  of  pillars  and  white 
domes  clustered  into  a  long,  low  pyramid  of  colored 
light,  a  treasure-heap,  as  it  seems,  partly  of  gold  and 
partly  of  opal  and  mother-of-pearl,  hollowed  beneath  into 
five  great  vaulted  porches,  ceiled  with  fair  mosaic  and 
beset  with  sculptures  of  alabaster,  clear  as  amber  and 
delicate  as  ivory ;  sculpture  fantastic  and  involved,  of 


224  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

palm-leaves  and  lilies,  and  grapes  and  pomegranates, 
and  birds  clinging  and  fluttering  among  the  branches, 
all  twined  together  into  an  endless  network  of  buds  and 
plumes,  and,  in  the  midst  of  it,  the  solemn  forms  of 
angels,  sceptered  and  robed  to  the  feet,  and  leaning  to 
each  other  across  the  gates,  their  features  indistinct 
among  the  gleaming  of  the  golden  ground  through  the 
leaves  beside  them,  interrupted  and  dim,  like  the  morn- 
ing light  as  it  faded  back  among  the  branches  of  Eden 
when  first  its  gates  were  angel-guarded  long  ago.  And 
round  the  walls  of  the  porches  there  are  set  pillars  of 
variegated  stones,  jasper  and  porphyry,  and  deep-green 
serpentine,  spotted  with  flakes  of  snow,  and  marbles  that 
half  refuse  and  half  yield  to  the  sunshine,  Cleopatra-like, 
'  their  bluest  veins  to  kiss,'  the  shadow  as  it  steals  back 
from  them  revealing  line  after  line  of  azure  undulation, 
as  a  receding  tide  leaves  the  waved  sand:  their  capitals 
rich  with  interwoven  tracery,  rooted  knots  of  herbage, 
and  drifting  leaves  of  acanthus  and  vine,  and  mystical 
signs  all  beginning  and  ending  in  the  Cross :  and  above 
them  in  the  broad  archivolts  a  continuous  chain  of  lan- 
guage and  of  life,  angels  and  the  signs  of  heaven  and  the 
labors  of  men,  each  in  its  appointed  season  upon  the 
earth ;  and  above  them  another  range  of  glittering  pin- 
nacles, mixed  with  white  arches  edged  with  scarlet 
flowers,  a  confusion  of  delight,  among  which  the  breasts 
of  the  Greek  horses  are  seen  blazing  in  their  breadth  of 
golden  strength,  and  the  St.  Mark's  lion,  lifted  on  a 
blue  field  covered  with  stars,  until  at  last,  as  if  in  ecstasy, 
the  crests  of  the  arches  break  into  a  marble  foam,  and  toss 
themselves  far  into  the  blue  sky  in  flashes  and  wreaths 
of  sculptured  spray,  as  if  the  breakers  on  the  Lido  shore 


SAN    MARCO  225 

had  been  frost-bound  before  they  fell,  and  the  sea-nymphs 
had  inlaid  them  with  coral  and  amethyst."  * 

This  is  San  Marco  as  it  was.  Eight  centuries  had 
harmed  it  little ;  they  had  but  touched  the  building  with 
a  gentle  hand  and  had  mellowed  its  tints  into  tender  har- 
mony ;  now  its  new  masters,  cruel  in  their  kindness,  have 
restored  the  mosaics  and  scraped  the  marbles ;  now  raw 
blotches  and  patches  of  crude  color  glare  out  in  vio- 
lent contrast  with  those  parts  which,  owing  to  the  intri- 
cacy of  the  carved  work,  or  some  other  reason,  it  has 
been  found  impossible  to  touch.  To  look  at  St.  Mark's 
now  is  like  listening  to  some  symphony  by  a  master  of 
harmony  which  is  played  on  instruments  all  out  of  tune. 

Photographs,  pictures,  illustrations  of  all  kinds,  have 
made  St.  Mark's  so  familiar  to  all  the  world  that  it  is 
needless  to  attempt  to  give  any  description  of  its  details. 

It  may  suffice  to  say  that  the  cathedral  stands  on  the 
site  of  a  smaller  and  older  building,  in  which  the  relics 
of  St.  Mark,  the  tutelary  saint  of  Venice,  had  been  al- 
ready enshrined.  The  present  structure  was  begun  about 
the  year  976,  and  occupied  very  nearly  a  century  in  build- 
ing. But  it  is  adorned  with  the  spoils  of  many  a  classic 
structure:  with  columns  and  slabs  of  marble  and  of -por- 
phyry and  of  serpentine,  which  were  hewn  from  quarries 
in  Greece  and  Syria,  in  Egypt  and  Libya,  by  the  hands 
of  Roman  slaves,  and  decked  the  palaces  and  the  baths, 
the  temples  and  the  theaters  of  Roman  cities. 

The  inside  of  St.  Mark's  is  not  less  strange  and  im- 
pressive, but  hardly  so  attractive  as  the  exterior.  It  is 
plain  in  outline  and  almost  heavy  in  design,  a  Greek  cross 
in  plan,  with  a  vaulted  dome  above  the  center  and  each 

*Ruskin:  "Stones  of  Venice." 


226  THE    MEDITERRANE;  N 

arm.  Much  as  the  exterior  of  St.  Mark's  owes  to  marble, 
porphyry,  and  mosaic,  it  would  be  beautiful  if  constructed 
only  of  grey  limestone.  This  could  hardly  be  said  of  the 
interior:  take  away  the  choice  stones  from  columns  and' 
dado  and  pavement,  strip  away  the  crust  of  mosaic,  those 
richly  robed  figures  on  ground  of  gold,  from  wall  and 
from  vault  (for  the  whole  interior  is  veneered  with  mar- 
bles or  mosaics),  and  only  a  rather  dark,  massive  build- 
ing would  remain,  which  would  seem  rather  lower  and 
rather  smaller  than  one  had  been  led  to  expect. 

The  other  view  in  Venice  which  seems  to  combine  best 
its  peculiar  character  with  its  picturesque  beauty  may  be 
obtained  at  a  very  short  distance  from  St.  Mark's.  Leave 
the  fagade  of  which  we  have  just  spoken,  the  three  great 
masts,  with  their  richly  ornamented  sockets  of  bronze, 
from  which,  in  the  proud  days  of  Venice,  floated  the 
banners  of  Candia,  Cyprus,  and  the  Morea ;  turn  from 
the  Piazza  into  the  Piazzetta ;  leave  on  the  one  hand 
the  huge  Campanile,  more  huge  than  beautiful  (if  one 
may  venture  to  whisper  a  criticism),  on  the  other  the 
sumptuous  portico  of  the  Ducal  Palace ;  pass  on  beneath 
the  imposing  facade  of  the  palace  itself,  with  its  grand 
colonnade ;  on  between  the  famous  columns,  brought 
more  than  seven  centuries  since  from  some  Syrian  ruins, 
which  bear  the  lion  of  St.  Mark  and  the  statue  of  St. 
Theodore,  the  other  patron  of  the  Republic ;  and  then, 
standing  on  the  Molo  at  the  head  of  the  Riva  degli 
Schiavoni,  look  around ;  or  better  still,  step  down  into 
one  of  the  gondolas  which  are  in  waiting  at  the  steps,  and 
push  off  a  few  dozen  yards  from  the  land :  then  look 
back  on  the  fagade  of  the  Palace  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
along  the  busy  quays  of  the  Riva,  towards  the  green  trees 
of  the  Giardini  Publici,  look  up  the  Piazzetta,  between 


THE    GRAND    CANAL  227 

the  twin  columns,  to  the  glimpses  of  St.  Mark's  and  the 
towering  height  of  the  Campanile,  along  the  fagade  of  the 
Royal  Palace,  with  the  frjnge  of  shrubbery  below  con- 
trasting pleasantly  with  all  these  masses  of  masonry,  up 
the  broad  entrance  to  the  Grand  Canal,  between  its  rows 
of  palaces,  across  it  to  the  great  dome  of  Santa  Maria 
della  Salute  and  the  Dogana  della  Mare,  with  its  statue 
of  Fortune  (appropriate  to  the  past  rather  than  to  the 
present)  gazing  out  from  its  seaward  angle.  Beyond 
this,  yet  farther  away,  lies  the  Isola  San  Giorgio,  a  group 
of  plain  buildings  only,  a  church,  with  a  dome  simple 
in  outline  and  a  brick  campanile  almost  without  adorn- 
ment, yet  the  one  thing  in  Venice,  after  the  great  group 
of  St.  Mark ;  this  is  a  silent  witness  to  its  triumphs  in 
presses  itself  on  the  mind.  From  this  point  of  view 
Venice  rises  before  our  eyes  in  its  grandeur  and  in  its 
simplicity,  in  its  patrician  and  its  plebeian  aspects,  as  "  a 
sea  Cybele,  fresh  from  ocean,  throned  on  her  hundred 
isles  .  .  .a  ruler  of  the  waters  and  their  powers." 
But  to  leave  Venice  without  a  visit  to  the  Grand  Canal 
would  be  to  leave  the  city  with  half  the  tale  untold.  Its 
great  historic  memories  are  gathered  around  the  Piazza 
of  St.  Mark  ;  this  is  a  silent  witness  to  its  triumphs  in 
peace  and  in  war,  to  the  deeds  noble  and  brave,  of  its 
rulers.  But  the  Grand  Canal  is  the  center  of  its  life, 
commercial  and  domestic ;  it  leads  from  its  quays  to  its 
Exchange,  from  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni  and  the 
Dogana  della  Mare  to  the  Rialto.  It  is  bordered  by  the 
palaces  of  the  great  historic  families  who  were  the  rulers 
and  princes  of  Venice,  who  made  the  State  by  their 
bravery  and  prudence,  who  destroyed  it  by  their  jeal- 
ousies and  self-seeking.  The  Grand  Canal  is  a  genealogy 
of  Venice,  illustrated  and  engraved  on  stone.  As  one 


228  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

glides  along  in  a  gondola,  century  after  century  in  the 
history  of  domestic  architecture,  from  the  twelfth  to 
the  eighteenth,  slowly  unrolls  -itself  before  us.  There 
are  palaces  which  still  remain  much  as  they  were  of  old, 
but  here  and  there  some  modern  structure,  tasteless  and 
ugly,  has  elbowed  for  itself  a  place  among  them;  not  a 
few,  also,  have  been  converted  into  places  of  business, 
and  are  emblazoned  with  prominent  placards  proclaim- 
ing the  trade  of  their  new  masters,  worthy  representatives 
of  an  age  that  is  not  ashamed  to  daub  the  cliffs  of  the  St. 
Gothard  with  the  advertisements  of  hotels  and  to  paint 
its  boulders  for  the  benefit  of  vendors  of  chocolate ! 

But  in  the  present  era  one  must  be  thankful  for  any- 
thing that  is  spared  by  the  greed  of  wealth  and  the  vul- 
garity of  a  "  democracy."  Much  of  old  Venice  still  re- 
mains, though  little  steamers  splutter  up  and  down  the 
Grand  Canal,  and  ugly  iron  bridges  span  its  waters,  both, 
it  must  be  admitted,  convenient,  though  hideous ;  still  the 
gondolas  survive ;  still  one  hears  at  every  corner  the  boat- 
man's strange  cry  of  warning,  sometimes  the  only  sound 
except  the  knock  of  the  oar  that  breaks  the  silence  of  the 
liquid  street.  Every  turn  reveals  something  quaint  and 
old-world.  Now  it  is  a  market-boat,  with  its  wicker 
panniers  hanging  outside,  loaded  with  fish  or  piled  with 
vegetables  from  one  of  the  more  distant  islets ;  now  some 
little  bridge,  now  some  choice  architectural  fragment,  a 
doorway,  a  turret,  an  oriel,  or  a  row  of  richly  ornate 
windows,  now  a  tiny  piazzetta  leading  up  to  the  fagade 
and  campanile  of  a  more  than  half-hidden  church ;  now 
the  marble  enclosure  of  a  well.  Still  the  water-carriers 
go  about  with  buckets  of  hammered  copper  hung  at  each 
end  of  a  curved  pole ;  still,  though  more  rarely,  some 
quaint  costume  may  be  seen  in  the  calle;  still  the  dark 


A    VENETIAN    FUNERAL  229 

shops  in  the  narrow  passages  are  full  of  goods  strange  to 
the  eye,  and  bright  in  their  season  with  the  flowers  and 
fruits  of  an  Italian  summer ;  still  the  purple  pigeons 
gather  in  scores  at  the  wonted  hour  to  be  fed  on  the 
Piazza  of  St.  Mark,  and,  fearless  of  danger,  convert  the 
distributor  of  a  pennyworth  of  maize  into  a  walking 
dovecot. 

Still  Venice  is  delightful  to  the  eyes  (unhappily  not  al- 
ways so  to  the  nose  in  many  a  nook  and  corner)  notwith- 
standing the  pressure  of  poverty  and  the  wantonness  of 
restorers.  Perchance  it  may  revive  and  yet  see  better 
days  (its  commerce  is  said  to  have  increased  since  1866)  ; 
but  if  so,  unless  a  change  comes  over  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  the  result  will  be  the  more  complete  destruction  of  all 
that  made  its  charm  and  its  wonder ;  so  this  chapter  may 
appropriately  be  closed  by  a  brief  sketch  of  one  scene 
which  seems  in  harmony  with  the  memories  of  its  de- 
parted greatness,  a  Venetian  funeral.  The  dead  no  long- 
er rest  among  the  living  beneath  the  pavement  of  the 
churches :  the  gondola  takes  the  Venetian  "  about  the 
streets  "  to  the  daily  business  of  life ;  it  bears  him  away 
from  his  home  to  the  island  cemetery.  From  some  nar- 
row alley,  muffled  by  the  enclosing  masonry,  comes  the 
sound  of  a  funeral  march ;  a  procession  emerges  on  to  the 
piazzetta  by  the  water-side ;  the  coffin  is  carried  by  long- 
veiled  acolytes  and  mourners  with  lighted  torches,  ac- 
companied by  a  brass  band  with  clanging  cymbals.  A 
large  gondola,  ornamented  with  black  and  silver,  is  in 
waiting  at  the  nearest  landing  place ;  the  band  and  most 
of  the  attendants  halt  by  the  water-side;  the  coffin  is 
placed  in  the  boat,  the  torches  are  extinguished ;  a  wilder 
wail  of  melancholy  music,  a  more  resonant  clang  of  the 
cymbals,  sounds  the  last  farewell  to  home  and  its  pleas- 


230  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

ures  and  its  work ;  the  oars  are  dipped  in  the  water,  and 
another  child  of  Venice  is  taken  from  the  city  of  the 
living  to  the  city  of  the  dead. 

A  long  line  of  islands  completely  shelters  Venice  from 
the  sea,  so  that  the  waters  around  its  walls  are  very  sel- 
dom ruffled  into  waves.  The  tide  also  rises  and  falls  but 
little,  not  more  than  two  or  three  feet,  if  so  much.  Thus 
no  banks  of  pestiferous  mud  are  laid  bare  at  low  water  by 
the  ebb  and  flow,  and  yet  some  slight  circulation  is  main- 
tained in  the  canals,  which,  were  it  not  for  this,  would 
be  as  intolerable  as  cesspools.  Small  boats  can  find  their 
way  over  most  parts  of  the  lagoon,  where  in  many  places 
a  safe  route  has  to  be  marked  out  with  stakes,  but  for 
large  vessels  the  channels  are  few.  A  long  island,  Mala- 
mocco  by  name,  intervenes  between  Venice  and  the  Ad- 
riatic, on  each  side  of  which  are  the  chief  if  not  the  only 
entrances  for  large  ships.  At  its  northern  end  is  the 
sandy  beach  of  the  Lido,  a  great  resort  of  the  Venetians, 
for  there  is  good  sea-bathing.  But  except  this,  Mala- 
mocco  has  little  to  offer ;  there  is  more  interest  in  other 
parts  of  the  lagoon.  At  the  southern  end,  some  fifteen 
miles  away,  the  old  town  of  Chioggia  is  a  favorite  ex- 
cursion. On  the  sea  side  the  long  fringe  of  narrow  is- 
lands, of  which  Malamocco  is  one,  protected  by  massive 
walls,  forms  a  barrier  against  the  waves  of  the  Adriatic. 
On  the  land  side  is  the  dreary  fever-haunted  region  of 
the  Laguna  Morta,  like  a  vast  fen,  beyond  which  rise 
the  serrate  peaks  of  the  Alps  and  the  broken  summits  of 
the  Euganean  Hills.  The  town  itself,  the  Roman  Fossa 
Claudia,  is  a  smaller  edition  of  Venice,  joined  like  it  to 
the  mainland  by  a  bridge.  If  it  has  fewer  relics  of  archi- 
tectural value  it  has  suffered  less  from  modern  changes, 
and  has  retained  much  more  of  its  old-world  character. 


TORCELLO  231 

Murano,  an  island  or  group  of  islands,  is  a  tiny  edition 
of  Venice,  and  a  much  shorter  excursion,  for  it  lies  only 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  away  to  the  north  of  the  city. 
Here  is  the  principal  seat  of  the  workers  in  glass ;  here 
are  made  those  exquisite  reproductions  of  old  Venetian 
glass  and  of  ancient  mosaic  which  have  made  the  name 
of  Salviati  noted  in  all  parts  of  Europe.  Here,  too,  is  a 
cathedral  which,  though  it  has  suffered  from  time,  neglect 
and  restoration,  is  still  a  grand  relic.  At  the  eastern  end 
there  is  a  beautiful  apse  enriched  by  an  arcade  and  de- 
corated with  inlaid  marbles,  but  the  rest  of  the  exterior  is 
plain.  .  As  usual  in  this  part  of  Italy  (for  the  external 
splendor  of  St.  Mark's  is  exceptional)  all  richness  of  de- 
coration is  reserved  for  the  interior.  Here  columns  of 
choice  stones  support  the  arches ;  'there  is  a  fine  mosaic  in 
the  eastern  apse,  but  the  glory  of  Murano  is  its  floor,  a  su- 
perb piece  of  opus  Ale xandrinum ,  inlaid  work  of  marbles 
and  porphyries,  bearing  date  early  in  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury, and  richer  in  design  than  even  that  at  St.  Mark's, 
for  peacocks  and  other  birds,  with  tracery  of  strange  de- 
sign, are  introduced  into  its  patterns. 

But  there  is  another  island  beyond  Murano,  some  half- 
dozen  miles  away  from  Venice,  which  must  not  be  left 
unvisited.  It  is  reached  by  a  delightful  excursion  over 
the  lagoon,  among  lonely  islands  thinly  inhabited,  the 
garden  grounds  of  Venice,  where  they  are  not  left  to  run 
wild  with  rank  herbage  or  are  covered  by  trees.  This  is 
Torcello,  the  ancient  Altinum.  Here  was  once  a  town 
of  note,  the  center  of  the  district  when  Venice  was  strug- 
gling into  existence.  Its  houses  now  are  few  and  ruin- 
ous ;  the  ground  is  half  overgrown  with  populars  and 
acacias  and  pomegranates,  red  in  summer-time  with 
scarlet  flowers.  But  it  possesses  two  churches  which, 


232  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

though  small  in  size  are  almost  unique  in  their  interest, 
the  duomo,  dedicated  to  St.  Mary,  and  the  church  of  Sta. 
Fosca.  They  stand  side  by  side,  and  are  linked  together 
by  a  small  cloister.  The  former  is  a  plain  basilica  which 
retains  its  ancient  plan  and  arrangement  almost  intact. 
At  one  end  is  an  octagonal  baptistry,  which,  instead  of 
being  separated  from  the  cathedral  by  an  atrium  or  court, 
is  only  divided  from  it  by  a  passage.  The  exterior  of  the 
cathedral  is  plain;  the  interior  is  not  much  more  ornate. 
Ancient  columns,  with  quaintly  carved  capitals  support- 
ing stilted  semicircular  arches,  divide  the  aisles  from  the 
nave.  Each  of  these  has  an  apsidal  termination.  The 
high  altar  stands  in  the  center  of  the  middle  one,  and  be- 
hind it,  against  the  wall,  the  marble  throne  of  the  bishop 
is  set  up  on  high,  and  is  approached  by  a  long  flight  of 
marble  steps.  On  each  side,  filling  up  the  remainder  of 
the  curve,  six  rows  of  steps  rise  up  like  the  seats  of  an 
amphitheater,  the  places  of  the  attendant  priests.  The 
chancel,  true  to  its  name,  is  formed  by  enclosing  a  part 
of  the  nave  with  a  low  stone  wall  and  railing.  Opinions 
differ  as  to  the  date  of  this  cathedral.  According  to 
Fergusson  it  was  erected  early  in  the  eleventh  century, 
but  it  stands  on  the  site  of  one  quite  four  centuries  older, 
and  reproduces  the  arrangement  of  its  predecessor  if  it 
does  not  actually  incorporate  portions  of  it.  Certainly 
the  columns  and  capitals  in  the  nave  belong,  as  a  rule,  to 
an  earlier  building.  Indeed,  they  have  probably  done 
duty  more  than  once,  and  at  least  some  of  them  were 
sculptured  before  the  name  of  Attila  had  been  heard  of 
in  the  delta  of  the  North  Italian  rivers. 

The  adjoining  church  of  Sta.  Fosca  is  hardly  less  in- 
teresting. An  octagonal  case,  with  apses  at  the  eastern 
end,  supports  a  circular  drum,  which  is  covered  by  a  low 


STA.  FOSCA  233 

conical  roof,  and  a  cloister  or  corridor  surrounds  the 
greater  part  of  the  church.  This  adds  much  to  the  beauty 
of  the  design,  the  idea,  as  Fergusson  remarks,  being  evi- 
dently borrowed  from  the  circular  colonnades  of  the  Ro- 
man temples.  He  also  justly  praises  the  beauty  of  the 
interior.  In  this  church  also,  which  in  its  present  condi- 
tion is  not  so  old  as  the  cathedral,  the  materials  of  a 
much  older  building  or  buildings  have  been  employed. 
But  over  these  details  or  the  mosaics  in  the  cathedral  we 
must  not  linger,  and  must  only  pause  to  mention  the 
curious  stone  chair  in  the  adjacent  court  which  bears  the 
name  of  the  throne  of  Attila ;  perhaps,  like  the  chair  of 
the  Dukes  of  Corinthia,  it  was  the  ancient  seat  of  the 
chief  magistrate  of  the  island. 


XI 
ALEXANDRIA 

The  bleak  and  barren  shores  of  the  Nile  Delta — Peculiar 
shape  of  the  city — Strange  and  varied  picture  of  Alexan- 
drian street  life — The  Place  Mehemet  Ali — Glorious  pan- 
orama from  the  Cairo  citadel — Pompey's  Pillar — The 
Battle  of  the  Nile — Discovery  of  the  famous  inscribed 
stone  at  Rosetta — Port  Said  and  the  Suez  Canal. 

T  is  with  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment  that  the 
traveller  first  sights  the  monotonous  and  dreary- 
looking  Egyptian  sea-board.  The  low  ridges  of 
desolate  sandhills,  occasionally  broken  by  equally  unat- 
tractive lagunes,  form  a  melancholy  contrast  to  the  beau- 
tiful scenery  of  the  North  African  littoral  farther  west, 
which  delighted  his  eyes  a  short  time  before,  while  skirt- 
ing the  Algerian  coast.  What  a  change  from  the  thickly- 
wooded  hills  gently  sloping  upwards  from  the  water's 
edge  to  the  lower  ridges  of  the  Atlas  range,  whose  snow- 
clad  peaks  stand  out  clear  in  the  brilliant  atmosphere, 
the  landscape  diversified  with  cornfields  and  olive  groves, 
and  thickly  studded  with  white  farmhouses,  looking  in 
the  distance  but  white  specks,  and  glittering  like  dia- 
monds under  the  glowing  rays  of  the  sun.  Now,  instead 
of  all  this  warmth  of  color  and  variety  of  outline,  one  is 
confronted  by  the  bleak  and  barren  shores  of  the  Nile 
Delta. 

If  the  expectant  traveller  is  so  disenchanted  with  his 

234 


HISTORIC    SITES  235 

first  view  of  Egypt  from  the  sea,  still  greater  is  his  disap- 
pointment as  the  ship  approaches  the  harbor.  This  bust- 
ling and  painfully  modern-looking  town — the  city  of  the 
great  Alexander,  and  the  gate  of  that  land  of  oriental 
romance  and  fascinating  association — might,  but  for  an 
occasional  palm-tree  or  minaret  standing  out  among  the 
mass  of  European,  buildings,  be  mistaken  for  some  flour- 
ishing European  port,  say  a  Marseilles  or  Havre  plumped 
down  on  the  Egyptian  plain. 

But  though  we  must  not  look  for  picturesque  scenery 
and  romantic  surroundings  in  this  thriving  port,  there 
is  yet  much  to  interest  the  antiquarian  and  the  "  intelli- 
gent tourist "  in  this  classic  district.  The  Delta  sea- 
board was  for  centuries  the  battle-ground  of  the  Greek 
and  Roman  Empires,  and  the  country  between  Alexan- 
dria and  Port  Said  is  strewed  with  historic  sites. 

Alexandria  itself,  though  a  much  Europeanized  and  a 
hybrid  sort  of  city,  is  not  without  interest.  It  has  been 
rather  neglected  by  Egyptian  travel  writers,  and  conse- 
quently by  the  tourist,  who  rarely  strikes  out  a  line  for 
himself.  It  is  looked  upon  too  much  as  the  port  of 
Cairo,  just  as  Leghorn  is  of  Pisa  and  Florence,  and 
visitors  usually  content  themselves  with  devoting  to  it 
but  one  day,  and  then  rushing  off  by  train  to  Cairo. 

It  would  be  absurd,  of  course,  to  compare  Alexandria, 
in  point  of  artistic,  antiquarian,  and  historical  interest, 
to  this  latter  city ;  though,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Cairo  is 
a  modern  city  compared  to  the  Alexandria  of  Alexan- 
der ;  just  as  Alexandria  is  but  of  mushroom  growth  con- 
trasted with  Heliopolis,  Thebes,  Memphis,  or  the  other 
dead  cities  of  the  Nile  Valley  of  which  traces  still  re- 
main. It  has  often  been  remarked  that  the  ancient  city 
has  bequeathed  nothing  but  its  ruins  and  its  name  to 


236  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

Alexandria  of  to-day.  Even  these  ruins  are  deplorably 
scanty,  and  most  of  the  sites  are  mainly  conjectural. 
Few  vestiges  remain  of  the  architectural  splendor  of  the 
Ptolemaic  dynasty.  Where  are  now  the  4,000  palaces, 
the  4,000  baths,  and  the  400  theaters,  about  which  the 
conquering  general  Amru  boasted  to  his  master,  the 
Caliph  Omar?  What  now  remains  of  the  magnificent 
temple  of  Serapis,  towering  over  the  city  on  its  plat- 
form of  one  hundred  steps?  Though  there  are  scarcely 
any  traces  of  the  glories  of  ancient  Alexandria,  once 
the  second  city  of  the  Empire,  yet  the  recollection  of  its 
splendors  has  not  died  out,  and  to  the  thoughtful 
traveller  this  city  of  memories  has  its  attractions.  Here 
St.  Mark  preached  the  Gospel  and  suffered  martyrdom, 
and  here  Athanasius  opposed  in  warlike  controversy  the 
Arian  heresies.  Here  for  many  centuries  were  collected 
in  this  center  of  Greek  learning  and  culture  the  greatest 
intellects  of  the  civilized  world.  Here  Cleopatra,  "  vain- 
queur  des  vainqueurs  du  monde,"  held  Antony  willing 
captive,  while  Octavius  was  preparing  his  legions  to 
crush  him.  Here  Amru  conquered,  and  here  Aber- 
crombie  fell.  Even  those  whose  tastes  do  not  incline 
them  to  historical  or  theological  researches  are  familiar, 
thanks  to  Kingsley's  immortal  romance,  with  the  story 
of  the  noble-minded  Hypatia  and  the  crafty  and  am- 
bitious Cyril,  and  can  give  rein  to  their  imagination  by 
verifying  the  sites  of  the  museum  where  she  lectured, 
and  the  Csesarum  where  she  fell  a  victim  to  the  atro- 
cious zeal  of  Peter  the  Reader  and  his  rabble  of  fanatical 
monks. 

The  peculiar  shape  of  the  city,  built  partly  on  the 
Pharos  Island  and  peninsula,  and  partly  on  the  mainland, 
is  due,  according  to  the  chroniclers,  to  a  patriotic  whim 


THE    MODERN    CITY  237 

of  the  founder,  who  planned  the  city  in  the  form  of  a 
chlamys,  the  short  cloak  or  tunic  worn  by  the  Mace- 
donian soldiers.  The  modern  city,  though  it  has  pushed 
its  boundaries  a  good  way  to  the  east  and  west,  still 
preserves  this  curious  outline,  though  to  a  non-classical 
mind  it  rather  suggests  a  star-fish.  Various  legends 
are  extant  to  account  for  the  choice  of  this  particular 
spot  for  a  Mediterranean  port.  According  to  the  popu- 
b.r  version,  a  venerable  seer  appeared  to  the  Great  Con- 
queror in  a  dream,  and  quoted  those  lines  of  the  Odys- 
sey which  describe  the  one  sheltered  harbor  on  the 
northern  coast  of  Egypt : — "  a  certain  island  called 
Pharos,  that  with  the  ^high-waved  sea  is  washed,  just 
against  Egypt."  Acting  on  this  supernatural  hint,  Alex- 
ander decided  to  build  his  city  on  that  part  of  the  coast 
to  which  the  Pharos  isle  acted  as  a  natural  breakwater, 
and  where  a  small  Greek  fishing  settlement  was  already 
established,  called  Rhacotis.  The  legend  is  interesting, 
but  it  seems  .scarcely  necessary  to  fall  back  on  a  mythi- 
cal story  to  account  for  the  selection  of  this  site.  The 
two  great  aims  of  Alexander  were  the  foundation  of  a 
center  for  trade,  and  the  extension  of  commerce,  and 
also  the  fusion  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  nations.  For 
the  carrying  out  of  these  objects,  the  establishment  of  a 
convenient  sea-port  with  a  commanding  position  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Nile  was  required.  The  choice  of  a  site 
a  little  west  of  the  Nile  mouths  was,  no  doubt,  due  to 
his  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  the  sea  current  sets  east- 
ward, and  that  the  alluvial  soil  brought  down  by  the 
Nile  would  soon  choke  a  harbor  excavated  east  of  the 
river,  as  had  already  happened  at  Pelusium.  It  is  this 
alluvial  wash  which  has  rendered  the  harbors  of  Rosetta 
and  Damietta  almost  useless  for  vessels  of  any  draught, 


238  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

and  at  Port  Said  the  accumulation  of  sand  necessitates 
continuous  dredging  in  order  to  keep  clear  the  entrance 
of  the  Suez  Canal. 

A    well-known    writer   on   Egypt   has   truly   observed 
that  there  are  three  Egypts  to  interest  the  traveller.   The 
Egypt  of  the  Pharoahs  and  the  Bible,  the  Egypt  of  the 
Caliphates  and  the  "  Abrabian  Nights,"  and  the  Egypt 
of   European   commerce   and   enterprise.      It    is   to   this 
third  stage  of  civilization  that  the  fine  harbor  of  Alex- 
andria bears  witness.     Not  only  is  it  of  interest  to  the 
engineer  and  the  man  of  science,  but  it  is  also  of  great 
historic  importance.     It  serves  as  a  link  between  ancient 
and    modern   civilization.      The  .port    is   Alexander   the 
Great's    best    monument — "  si    quseris  monumentum    re- 
spice."     But  for  this,  Alexandria  might  now  be  a  little 
fishing  port  of  no  more  importance  than  the  little  Greek 
fishing  village,  Rhacotis,  whose  ruins  lie  buried  beneath 
its  spacious  quays.     It  is  not  inaccurate  to  say  that  the 
existing  harbor  is  the  joint  work  of  Alexander  and  Eng- 
lish engineers  of  the  present  century.     It  was  originally 
formed  by  the  construction  of  a  vast  mole  (Heptastadion) 
joining  the  island  of  Pharos  to  the  mainland;  and  this 
stupendous  feat  of  engineering,  planned  and  carried  out 
by  Alexander,  has  been  supplemented  by  the  magnificent 
breakwater  constructed  by  England  in  1872,  at  a  cost  of 
over  two  and  a  half  millions  sterling.     After  Marseilles, 
/Malta,  and  Spezzia,  it  is  perhaps  the  finest  port  in  the 
Mediterranean,  both  on  account  of  its  natural  advantages 
as  a  haven,  and  by  reason  of  the  vast  engineering  works 
mentioned  above.     The  western  harbor  (formerly  called 
Eunostos   or   "good  home   sailing'')    of   which  we   are 
speaking — for  the   eastern,    or   so-called  new  harbor,  is 
choked  with  sand  and  given  up  to  native  craft — has   only 


THE    EASTERN    HARBOR  239 

one  drawback  in  the  dangerous  reef  at  its  entrance,  and 
which  should  have  been  blasted  before  the  breakwater 
and  the  other  engineering  works  were  undertaken.  The 
passage  through  the  bar  is  very  intricate  and  difficult,  and 
is  rarely  attempted  in  very  rough  weather.  The  eastern 
harbor  will  be  of  more  interest  to  the  artist,  crowded  as 
it  is  with  the  picturesque  native  craft  and  dahabyehs  with 
their  immense  lateen  sails.  The  traveller,  so  disgusted 
with  the  modern  aspect  of  the  city  from  the  western  har- 
bor, finds  some  consolation  here,  and  begins  to  feel  that 
he  is  really  in  the  East.  Formerly  this  harbor  was  alone 
available  for  foreign  ships,  the  bigoted  Moslems  object- 
ing to  the  "  Prankish  dogs  "  occupying  their  best  haven. 
This  restriction  has,  since  the  time  of  Mehemet  Ali,  been 
removed,  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  Alexandrian  trade. 
During  the  period  of  Turkish  misrule — when  Egypt 
under  the  Mamelukes,  though  nominally  a  vilayet  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire,  was  practically  under  the  dominion  of 
the  Beys — the  trade  of  Alexandria  had  declined  consider- 
ably, and  Rosetta  had  taken  away  most  of  its  commerce. 
When  Mehemet  Ali,  the  founder  of  the  present  dynasty, 
rose  to  power,  his  clear  intellect  at  once  comprehended 
the  importance  of  this  ancient  emporium,  and  the  wisdom 
of  Alexander's  choice  of  a  site  for  the  port  which  was 
destined  to  become  the  commercial  center  of  three  con- 
tinents. 

•  Mehemet  is  the  creator  of  modern  Alexandria.  He 
deepened  the  harbor,  which  had  been  allowed  to  be 
choked  by  the  accumulation  of  sand,  lined  it  with  spacious 
quays,  built  the  massive  forts  which  protect  the  coast, 
and  restored  the  city  to  its  old  commercial  importance, 
by  putting  it  into  communication  with  the  Nile  through 
the  medium  of  the  Mahmoudiyeh  Canal.  This  vast 


240  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

undertaking  was  only  effected  with  great  loss  of  life. 
It  was  excavated  by  the  forced  labor  of  250,000  peasants, 
of  whom  some  20,000  died  from  the  heat  and  the  severe 
toil. 

On  landing  from  the  steamer  the  usual  scrimmage  with 
Arab  porters,  Levantine  hotel  touts,  and  Egyptian  donkey 
boys,  will  have  to  be  endured  by  the  traveller.  He  may 
perhaps  be  struck,  if  he  has  any  time  or  temper  left  for 
reflection  at  all,  with  the  close  connection  between  the 
English  world  of  fashion  and  the  donkey,  so  far  at  least 
as  nomenclature  is  concerned,  each  animal  being  named 
after  some  English  celebrity.  The  inseparable  incidents 
of  disembarkation  at  an  Eastern  port  are,  however,  fa- 
miliar to  all  who  have  visited  the  East ;  and  the  same 
scenes  are  repeated  at  every  North  African  port,  from 
Tangier  to  Port  Said,  and  need  not  be  further  described. 

The  great  thoroughfare  of  Alexandria,  a  fine  street 
running  in  a  straight  line  from  the  western  gate  of  the 
city  to  the  Place  Mehemet  AH,  is  within  a  few  minutes 
of  the  quay.  A  sudden  turn  and  this  strange  mingling 
of  Eastern  and  Western  life  bursts  upon  the  spectator's 
astonished  gaze.  This  living  diorama,  formed  by  the 
brilliant  and  ever-shifting  crowd,  is  in  its  way  unique. 
A  greater  variety  of  nationalities  is  collected  here  than 
even  in  Constantinople  or  cosmopolitan  Algiers.  Let  us 
stand  aside  and  watch  this  motley  collection  of  all  nations, 
kindreds,  and  races  pouring  along  this  busy  highway. 
The  kaleidoscopic  variety  of  brilliant  color  and  fantastic 
costume  seems  at  first  a  little  bewildering.  Solemn  and 
impassive-looking  Turks  gently  ambling  past  on  gaily 
caparisoned  asses,  grinning  negroes  from  the  Nubian 
hills,  melancholy-looking  fellahs  in  their  scanty  blue 
kaftans,  cunning-featured  Levantines,  green-turbaned 


MEHEMET    ALI  241 

Shereefs,  and  picturesque  Bedouins  from  the  desert  stalk- 
ing along  in  their  flowing  bernouses,  make  up  the  mass 
of  this  restless  throng.  Interspersed,  and  giving  variety 
of  color  to  this  living  kaleidoscope,  gorgeously-arrayed 
Jews,  fierce-looking  Albanians,  their  many-colored  sashes 
bristling  with  weapons,  and  petticoated  Greeks.  Then, 
as  a  pleasing  relief  to  this  mass  of  color,  a  group  of 
Egyptian  ladies  glide  past,  "  a  bevy  of  fair  damsels  richly 
dight,"  no  doubt,  but  their  faces,  as  well  as  their  rich 
attire,  concealed  under  the  inevitable  yashmak  surmount- 
ing the  balloon-like  trousers.  Such  are  the  elements  -in 
this  mammoth  masquerade  which  make  up  the  strange 
and  varied  picture  of  Alexandrian  street  life.  And  now 
we  may  proceed  to  visit  the  orthodox  sights,  but  we  have 
seen  the  greatest  sight  Alexandria  has  to  show  us. 

The  Place  Mehemet  Ali,  usually  called  for  the  sake  of 
brevity  the  Grand  Square,  is  close  at  hand.  This  is  the 
center  of  the  European  quarter,  and  round  it  are  collected 
the  banks,  consular  offices,  and  principal  shops.  This 
square,  the  focus  of  the  life  of  modern  Alexandria,  is  ap- 
propriately named  after  the  founder  of  the  present  dy- 
nasty, and  the  creator  of  the  Egypt  of  to-day.  To  this 
great  ruler,  who  at  one  time  bid  fair  to  become  the 
founder,  not  only  of  an  independent  kingdom,  but  of  a 
great  Oriental  Empire,  Alexandria  owes  much  of  its  pros- 
perity and  commercial  importance.  The  career  of  Mehe- 
met Ali  is  interesting  and  romantic.  There  is  a  certain 
similarity  between  his  history  and  that  of  Napoleon  I., 
and  the  coincidence  seems  heightened  when  we  remember 
that  they  were  born  in  the  same  year.  Each,  rising 
from  an  obscure  position,  started  as  an  adventurer  on 
foreign  soil,  and  each  rose  to  political  eminence  by  force 
of  arms.  Unlike  Napoleon,  however,  in  one  important 


242  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

point,  Mehemet  Ali  founded  a  dynasty  which  still  remains 
in  power,  in  spite  of  the  weakness  and  incapacity  of  his 
successors.  To  Western  minds,  perhaps,  his  great  claim 
to  hold  a  high  rank  in  the  world's  history  lies  in  his  efforts 
to  introduce  European  institutions  and  methods  of  civili- 
zation, and  to  establish  a  system  of  government  opposed 
to  Mohammedan  instincts.  He  created  an  army  and  navy 
which  were  partly  based  on  European  models,  stimulated 
agriculture  and  trade,  and  organized  an  administrative 
and  fiscal  system  which  did  much  towards  putting  the 
country  on  a  sound  financial  footing.  The  great  blot  of 
his"  reign  was  no  doubt  the  horrible  massacre  of  the 
Mameluke  Beys,  and  this  has  been  the  great  point  of 
attack  by  his  enemies  and  detractors.  It  is  difficult  to 
excuse  this  oriental  example  of  a  coup  d'etat,  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  existence  of  this  rebellious  ele- 
ment was  incompatible  with  the  maintenance  of  his  rule, 
and  that  the  peace  of  the  country  was  as  much  endangered 
by  the  Mameluke  Beys  as  was  that  of  the  Porte  by  the 
Janissaries  a  few  years  later,  when  a  somewhat  similar 
atrocity  was  perpetrated. 

In  the  middle  of  the  square  stands  a  handsome  eques- 
trian statue  of  Mehemet  Ali  which  is,  in  one  respect, 
probably  unique.  The  Mohammedan  religion  demands 
the  strictest  interpretation  of  the  injunction  in  the  deca- 
logue against  making  "  to  thyself  any  craven  image,"  and 
consequently  a  statue  to  a  follower  of  the  creed  of  Maho- 
met is  rarely  seen  in  a  Mohammedan  country.  The  erec- 
tion of  this  particular  monument  was  much  resented  by 
the  more  orthodox  of  the  Mussulman  population  of  Alex- 
andria, and  the  religious  feelings  of  the  mob  manifested 
themselves  in  riots  and  other  hostile  demonstrations.  Not 
only  representations  in  stone  or  metal,  but  any  kind  of 


PALACE    OF    RAS-ET-TEEN  243 

likeness  of  the  human  form  is  thought  impious  by  Mo- 
hammedans. They  believe  that  the  author  will  be  com- 
pelled on  the  Resurrection  Day  to  indue  with  life  the 
sacrilegious  counterfeit  presentment.  Tourists  in  Egypt 
who  are  addicted  to  sketching,  or  who  dabble  in  photog- 
raphy, will  do  well  to  remember  these  conscientious 
scruples  of  the  Moslem  race,  and  not  let  their  zeal  for 
bringing  back .  pictorial  mementoes  of  their  travels  in- 
duce them  to  take  "  snapshots  "  of  mosque  interiors,  for 
instance.  In  Egypt,  no  doubt,  the  natives  have  too  whole- 
some a  dread  of  the  Franks  to  manifest  their  outraged 
feelings  by  physical  force,  but  still  it  is  ungenerous,  not 
to  say  unchristian,  to  wound  people's  religious  prejudices. 
In  some  other  countries  of  North  Africa,  notably  in  the 
interior  of  Morocco  or  Tripoli,  promiscuous  photography 
might  be  attended  with  disagreeable  results,  if  not  a- cer- 
tain amount  of  danger.  A  tourist  would  find  a  Kodak 
camera,  even  with  all  the  latest  improvements,  a  some- 
what inefficient  weapon  against  a  mob  of  fanatical  Arabs. 
That  imposing  pile  standing  out  so  prominently  on  the 
western  horn  of  Pharos  is  the  palace  of  Ras-et-Teen, 
built  by  Mehemet  Ali,  and  restored  in  execrable  taste  by 
his  grandson,  the  ex-Khedive  Ismail.  Seen  from  the 
ship's  side,  the  palace  has  a  rather  striking  appearance. 
The  exterior,  however,  is  the  best  part  of  it,  as  the  ornate 
and  gaudy  interior  contains  little  of  interest.  From  the 
upper  balconies  there  is  a  good  view  of  the  harbor,  and 
the  gardens  are  well  worth  visiting.  They  are  prettily  laid 
out,  and  among  many  other  trees,  olives  may  be  seen, 
unknown  in  any  other  part  of  the  Delta.  The  decora- 
tions and  appointments  of  the  interior  are  characterized 
by  a  tawdry  kind  of  magnificence.  The  incongruous  mix- 
ture of  modern  French  embellishments  and  oriental  splen- 


244  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

dor  gives  the  saloons  a  meretricious  air,  and  the  effect 
is  bizarre  an<l  unpleasing.  It  is  a  relief  to  get  away  from 
such  obtrusive  evidences  of  the  ex-Khedive's  decorative 
tastes,  by  stepping  out  on  the  balcony.  What  a  forest  of 
masts  meets  the  eye  as  one  looks  down  on  the  vast  har- 
bor ;  the  inner  one,  a  "  sea  within  a  sea,"  crowded  with 
vessels  bearing  the  flags  of  all  nations,  and  full  of  ani- 
mation and  movement. 

The  view  is  interesting,  and  makes  one  realize  the  com- 
mercial importance  of  this  great  emporium  of  trade,  the 
meeting-place  of  the  commerce  of  three  continents,  yet  it 
does  not  offer  many  features  to  distinguish  it  from  a 
view  of  any  other  thriving  port. 

For  the  best  view  of  the  city  and  the  surrounding  coun- 
try we  must  climb  the  slopes  of  Mount  Caffarelli  to  the 
fort  which  crowns  the  summit,  or  make  our  way  to  the 
fortress  Kom-el-Deek  on  the  elevated  ground  near  the 
Rosetta  Gate.  Alexandria,  spread  out  like  a  map,  lies  at 
our  feet.  At  this  height  the  commonplace  aspect  of  a 
bustling  and  thriving  seaport,  which  seems  on  a  close 
acquaintance  to  be  Europeanized  and  modernized  out  of 
the  least  resemblance  to  an  oriental  city,  is  changed  to  a 
prospect  of  some  beauty.  At  Alexandria,  even  more  than 
at  most  cities  of  the  East,  distance  lends  enchantment  to 
the  view.  From  these  heights  the  squalid  back  streets 
and  the  bustling  main  thoroughfares  look  like  dark 
threads  woven  into  the  web  of  the  city,  relieved  by  the 
white  mosques,  with  their  swelling  domes  curving  inward 
like  fan  palms  towards  the  crescents  flashing  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  and  their  tall  graceful  minarets  piercing  the 
smokeless  and  cloudless  atmosphere.  The  subdued  roar 
of  the  busy  streets  and  quays  is  occasionally  varied  by  the 
melodious  cry  of  the  muezzin.  Then  looking  northward 


THE    NILE    DELTA  245. 

one  sees  the  clear  blue  of  the  Mediterranean,  till  it  is  lost 
in  the  hazy  horizon.  To  the  west  and  south  the  placid 
waters  of  the  Mareotis  Lake,  in  reality  a  shallow  and  in- 
salubrious lagoon,  but  to  all  appearances  a  smiling  lake, 
which,  with  its  water  fringed  by  the  low-lying  sand  dunes, 
reminds  the  spectator  of  the  peculiar  beauties  of  the  Nor- 
folk Broads. 

Looking  south  beyond  the  lake  lies  the  luxuriant  plain 
of  the  Delta.  The  view  may  not  be  what  is  called  pictur- 
esque, but  the  scenery  has  its  special  charm.  The  coun- 
try is  no  doubt  flat  and  monotonous,  but  there  is  no 
monotony  of  color  in  this  richly  cultivated  plain. 

Innumerable  pens  have  been  worn  out  in  comparison 
and  simile  when  describing  the  peculiar  features  of  this 
North  African  Holland.  To  some  this  huge  market 
garden  with  its  network  of  canals,  simply  suggests  a 
chess-board.  Others  are  not  content  with  these  prosaic 
comparisons,  and  their  more  fanciful  metaphor  likens  the 
country  to  a  green  robe  interwoven  with  silver  threads, 
or  to  a  seven-ribbed  fan,  the  ribs  being  of  course  the  seven 
mouths  of  the  Nile.  Truth  to  tell,  though,  the  full  force 
of  this  fanciful  image  would  be  more  felt  by  a  spectator 
who  is  enjoying  that  glorious  panorama  from  the  Cairo 
citadel,  as  the  curious  triangular  form  of  the  Delta  is 
much  better  seen  from  that  point  than  from  Alexandria 
at  the  base  of  the  triangle. 

One  may  differ  as  to  the  most  appropriate  metaphors, 
but  all  must  agree  that  there  are  certain  elements  of 
beauty  about  the  Delta  landscape.  Seen,  as  most  tourists 
do  see  it,  in  winter  or  spring,  the  green  fields  of  waving 
corn  and  barley,  the  meadows  of  water-melons  and  cu- 
cumbers, the  fields  of  pea  and  purple  lupin  one  mass  of 
colors,  interspersed  with  the  palm-groves  and  white 


.246  THE    MEDITERRANEAN 

minarets,  which  mark  the  site  of  the  almost  invisible  mud 
villages,  and  intersected  thickly  with  countless  canals  and 
trenches  that  in  the  distance  look  like  silver  threads,  and 
suggest  Brobdignagian  filigree  work,  or  the  delicate  tra- 
cery of  King  Frost  on  our  window-panes,  the  view  is  im- 
pressive and  not  without  beauty. 

In  the  summer  and  early  autumn,  especially  during 
August  and  September  when  the  Nile  is  at  its  height,  the 
view  is  more  striking  though  hardly  so  beautiful.  Then 
it  is  that  this  Protean  country  offers  its  most  impressive 
aspect.  The  Delta  becomes  an  inland  archipelago  studded 
with  green  islands,  each  island  crowned  with  a  white- 
mosqued  village,  or  conspicuous  with  a  cluster  of  palms. 
The  Nile  and  its  swollen  tributaries  are  covered  with 
huge-sailed  dahabyehs,  which  give  life  and  variety  to 
the  watery  expanse. 

Alexandria  can  boast  of  few  "  lions  "  as  the  word  is 
usually  understood,  but  of  these  by  far  the  most  interest- 
ing  is  the  column  known  by  the  name  of  Pompey's  Pillar. 
Everyone  has  heard  of  the  famous  monolith,  which  is  as 
closely  associated  in  people's  minds  with  Alexandria  as 
the  Colosseum  is  with  Rome,  or  the  Alhambra  with 
Granada.  It  has,  of  course,  no  more  to  do  with  the 
Pompey  of  history  (to  whom  it  is  attributed  by  the  un- 
lettered tourist)  than  has  Cleopatra's  Needle  with  that 
famous  Queen,  the  "  Serpent  of  Old  Nile  " ;  or  Joseph's 
Well  at  Cairo  with  the  Hebrew  Patriarch.  It  owes  its 
name  to  the  fact  that  a  certain  prefect,  named  after 
Caesar's  great  rival,  erected  on  the  summit  of  an  existing 
column  a  statue  in  honor  of  the  horse  of  the  Roman  Em- 
peror Diocletian.  There  is  a  familiar  legend  which  has 
been  invented  to  account  for  the  special  reason  of  its 
erection,  which  guide-book  compilers  are  very  fond  of 


POMPEY'S  PILLAR  247 

According  to  this  story,  this  historic  animal,  through  an 
opportune  stumble,  stayed  the  persecution  of  the  Alex- 
andrian Christians,  as  the  tyrannical  emperor  had  sworn 
to  continue  the  massacre  till  the  blood  of  the  victims 
reached  his  horse's  knees.  Antiquarians  and  Egyptolo- 
gists are,  however,  given  to  scoffing  at  the  legend  as  a 
plausible  myth. 

in  the  opinion  of  many  learned  authorities,  the  shaft 
of  this  column  was  once  a  portion  of  the  Serapeum,  that 
famous  building  which  was  both  a  temple  of  the  heathen 
god  Serapis  and  a  vast  treasure-house  of  ancient  civiliza- 
tion. It  has  been  suggested — in  order  to  account  for  its 
omission  in  the  descriptions  of  Alexandria,  given  by  Pliny 
and  Strabo,  who  had  mentioned  the  two  obelisks  of  Cleo- 
patra— that  the  column  had  fallen,  and  that  the  Prefect 
Pompey  had  merely  re-erected  it  in  honor  of  Diocletian, 
and  replaced  the  statue  of  Serapis  with  one  of  the  Em- 
peror— or  of  his  horse,  according  to  some  chroniclers. 
This  statute,  if  it  ever  existed,  has  now  disappeared.  As 
it  stands,  however,  it  is  a  singularly  striking  and  beautiful 
monument,  owing  to  its  great  height,  simplicity  of  form, 
and  elegant  proportions.  It  reminds  the  spectator  a  little 
of  Nelson's  Column  in  Trafalgar  Square,  and  perhaps 
the  absence  of  a  statue  is  not  altogether  to  be  regretted 
considering  the  height  of  the  column,  as  it  might  suggest 
to  the  irrepressible  tourists  who  scoff  at  Nelson's  statue 
as  the  "  Mast-headed  Admiral,"  some  similar  witticism  at 
the  expense  of  Diocletian. 

With  the  exception  of  this  monolith,  which,  "  a  solitary 
column,  mourns  above  its  prostrate  brethren,"  only  a 
few  fragmentary  and  scattered  ruins  of  fallen  columns 
mark  the  site  of  the  world-renowned  Serapeum.  Nothing 
else  remains  of  the  famous  library,  the  magnificent  por- 


248  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

tico  with  its  hundred  steps,  the  vast  halls,  and  the  four 
hundred  marble  columns  of  that  great  building  designed 
to  perpetuate  the  glories  of  the  Ptolemies.  This  library, 
which  was  the  forerunner  of  the  great  libraries  of  modern 
times,  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  equally  famous 
one  that  was  attached  to  the  Museum,  whose  exact  site  is 
still  a  bone  of  contention  among  antiquarians.  The  latter 
was  destroyed  by  accident,  when  Julius  Caesar  set  fire  to 
the  Alexandrian  fleet.  The  Serapeum  collection  survived 
for  six  hundred  years,  till  its  wanton  destruction  through 
the  fanaticism  of  the  Caliph  Omar.  The  Arab  conqueror 
is  said  to  have  justified  this  barbarism  with  a  fallacious 
epigram,  which  was  as  unanswerable,  however  logically 
faulty,  as  the  famous  one  familiar  to  students  of  English 
history  under  the  name  of  Archbishop  Morton's  Fork. 
"  If  these  writings,"  declared  the  uncompromising  con- 
queror, "  agree  with  the  Book  of  God,  they  are  useless, 
and  need  not  be  preserved;  if  they  disagree,  they  are 
pernicious,  and  ought  to  be  destroyed."  Nothing  could 
prevail  against  this  flagrant  example  of  a  petitio  prin- 
eipii,  and  for  six  months  the  three  hundred  thousand 
parchments  supplied  fuel  for  the  four  thousand  baths  of 
Alexandria. 

Hard  by  Pompey's  Pillar  is  a  dreary  waste,  dotted  with 
curiously  carved  structures.  This  is  the  Mohammedan 
cemetery.  As  in  most  Oriental  towns,  the  cemetery  is  at 
the  west  end  of  the  town,  as  the  Mohammedans  consider 
that  the  quarter  of  the  horizon  in  which  the  sun  sets  is 
the  most  suitable  spot  for  their  burying-places. 

In  this  melancholy  city  of  the  dead  are  buried  also  many 
of  the  ruins  of  the  Serapeum,  and  scattered  about  among 
the  tombs  are  fragments  of  columns  and  broken  pedestals. 
On  some  of  the  tombs  a  green  turban  is  roughly  painted, 


MOHAMMEDAN  CEMETERY  249 

strangely  out  of  harmony  with  the  severe  stone  carving. 
This  signifies  that  the  tomb  holds  the  remains  of  a  de- 
scendant of  the  prophet,  or  of  a  devout  Moslem,  who  had 
himself,  and  not  vicariously  as  is  so  often  done,  made 
the  pilgrimage  to  the  sacred  city  of  Mecca.  Some  of  the 
head-stones  are  elaborately  carved,  but  most  are  quite 
plain,  with  the  exception  of  a  verse  of  the  Koran  cut  in 
the  stone.  The  observant  tourist  will  notice  on  many  of 
the  tombs  a  curious  little  round  hole  cut  in  the  stone  at 
the  head,  which  seems  to  be  intended  to  form  a  passage 
to  the  interior  of  the  vault,  though  the  aperture  is  gener- 
ally filled  up  with  earth.  It  is  said  that  this  passage  is 
made  to  enable  the  Angel  Israfel  at  the  Resurrection  to 
draw  out  the  occupant  by  the  hair  of  his  head ;  and  the 
custom  which  obtains  among  the  lower  class  Moslems  of 
shaving  the  head  with  the  exception  of  a  round  tuft  of 
hair  in  the  middle — a  fashion  which  suggests  an  incipient 
pigtail  or  an  inverted  tonsure — is  as  much  due  to  this 
superstition  as  to  sanitary  considerations. 

Of  far  greater  interest  than  this  comparatively  modern 
cemetery  are  the  cave  cemeteries  of  El-Meks.  These  cata- 
combs are  some  four  miles  from  the  city.  The  route 
along  the  low  ridge  of  sand-hills  is  singularly  unpictur- 
esque,  but  the  windmills  which  fringe  the  shore  give  a 
homely  aspect  to  the  country,  and  serve  at  any  rate  to 
break  the  monotony  of  this  dreary  and  prosaic  shore. 
We  soon  reach  Said  Pacha's  unfinished  palace  of  El- 
Meks,  which  owes  its  origin  to  the  mania  for  building 
which  helped  to  make  the  reign  of  that  weak-minded  ruler 
so  costly  to  his  over-taxed  subjects.  One  glimpse  at  the 
bastard  style  of  architecture  is  sufficient  to  remove  any 
feeling  of  disappointment  on  being  told  that  the  building 
is  not  open  to  the  public.  The  catacombs,  which  spread 


250  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

for  a  long  distance  along  the  seashore,  and  of  which  the 
so-called  Baths  of  Cleopatra  are  a  part,  are  very  exten- 
sive, and  tourists  are  usually  satisfied  with  exploring  a 
part.  There  are  no  mummies,  but  the  niches  can  be 
clearly  seen.  The  plan  of  the  catacombs  is  curiously  like 
the  wards  of  a  key. 

There  are  few  "  sights  "  in  Alexandria  of  much  in- 
terest besides  those  already  mentioned.  In  fact,  Alexan- 
dria is  interesting  more  as  a  city  of  sites  than  sights.  It 
is  true  that  the  names  of  some  of  the  mosques,  such  as 
that  of  the  One  Thousand  and  One  Columns,  built  on  the 
site  of  St.  Mark's  martyrdom,  and  the  Mosque  of  St. 
Athanasius,  are  calculated  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  the 
tourist;  but  the  interest  is  in  the  name  alone.  The  Mos- 
que of  many  Columns  is  turned  into  a  quarantine  station, 
and  the  Mosque  of  St.  Athanasius  has  no  connection  with 
the  great  Father  except  that  it  stands  on  the  site  of  a 
church  in  which  he  probably  preached. 

Then  there  is  the  Coptic  Convent  of  St.  Mark,  which, 
according  to  the  inmates,  contains  the  body  of  the  great 
Evangelist — an  assertion  which  would  scarcely  deceive 
the  most  ignorant  and  the  most  credulous  tourist  that 
ever  entrusted  himself  to  the  fostering  care  of  Messrs. 
Cook,  as  it  is  well  known  that  St.  Mark's  body  was  re- 
moved to  Venice  in  the  ninth  century.  The  mosque,  with 
the  ornate  exterior  and  lofty  minaret,  in  -which  the  re- 
mains of  Said  Pacha  are  buried,  is  the  only  one  besides 
those  already  mentioned  which  is  worth  visiting. 

The  shores  of  the  Delta  from  Alexandria  to  Rosetta 
are  singularly  rich  in  historical  associations,  and  are 
thickly  strewn  with  historic  landmarks.  The  plain  in 
which  have  been  fought  battles  which  have  decided  the 
fate  of  the  whole  western  world,  may  well  be  called  the 


' 


MUSTAPHA  PACHA  251 

"  Belgium  of  the  East."  In  this  circumscribed  area  the 
empires  of  the  East  and  West  struggled  for  the  mastery, 
and  many  centuries  later  the  English  here  wrested  from 
Napoleon  their  threatened  Indian  Empire.  In  the  few 
miles'  railway  journey  between  Alexandria  and  the 
suburban  town  of  Ramleh  the  passenger  traverses  classic 
ground.  At  Mustapha  Pacha  the  line  skirts  the  Roman 
camp,  where  Octavius  defeated  the  army  of  Antony,  and 
gained  for  Rome  a  new  empire.  Unfortunately  there  are 
now  few  ruins  left  of  this  encampment,  as  most  of  the 
stones  were  used  by  Ismail  Pacha  in  building  one  of  his 
innumerable  palaces,  now  converted  into  a  hospital  and 
barracks  for  the  English  troops.  Almost  on  this  very 
spot  where  Octavius  conquered,  was  fought  the  battle 
of  Alexandria,  which  gave  the  death-blow  to  Napoleon's 
great  scheme  of  founding  an  Eastern  Empire,  and  con- 
verting the  Mediterranean  into  "  un  lac  frangais."  This 
engagement  was,  as  regards  the  number  of  troops  en- 
gaged, an  insignificant  one;  but  as  the  great  historian  of 
modern  Europe  has  observed,  "  The  importance  of  a 
triumph  is  not  always  to  be  measured  by  the  number  of 
men  engaged.  The  contest  of  12,000  Britons  with  an 
equal  number  of  French  on  the  sands  of  Alexandria,  in 
its  remote  effect,  overthrew  a  greater  empire  than  that 
of  Charlemagne,  and  rescued  mankind  from  a  more  gall- 
ing tyranny  than  that  of  the  Roman  Emperors."  *  A 
icw  minutes  more  and  the  traveller's  historical  musings 
are  interrupted  by  the  shriek  of  the  engine  as  the  train 
enters  the  Ramleh  station.  This  pleasant  and  salubrious 
town,  with  its  rows  of  trim  villas  standing  in  their  own 
well-kept  grounds  and  gardens,  the  residences  of  Alexan- 
drian merchants,  suggests  a  fashionable  or  "  rising " 

*  Alison's  "  History  of  Europe." 


252  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

English  watering  place  rather  than  an  Oriental  town. 
As  a  residence  it  has  no  doubt  many  advantages,  includ- 
ing a  good  and  sufficient  water  supply,  and  frequent  com- 
munication by  train  with  Alexandria.  But  these  are  not 
the  attractions  which  appeal  to  the  traveller  or  tourist. 
The  only  objects  of  interest  are  the  ruins  of  the  Temple 
of  Arsenoe,  the  wife  of  Ptolemy  Philadelphus.  Concern- 
ing this  temple  there  is  an  interesting  and  romantic  legend, 
which  no  doubt  suggested  to  Pope  his  fanciful  poem, 
"  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  :— 

"  Not  Berenice's  hair  first  rose  so  bright, 
The  heavens  bespangling  with  dishevelled  light." 

This  pretty  story,  which  has  been  immortalized  by  Ca- 
tullus, is  as  follows : — When  Ptolemy  Euergetes  left  for 
his  expedition  to  Syria,  his  wife  Berenice  vowed  to  dedi- 
cate her  hair  to  Venus  Zephyrites  should  her  husband 
return  safe  and  sound.  Her  prayer  was  answered,  and 
in  fulfilment  of  her  vow  she  hung  within  the  Temple  of 
Arsenoe  the  golden  locks  that  had  adorned  her  head. 
Unfortunately  they  were  stolen  by  some  sacrilegious 
thief.  The  priests  were  naturally  troubled,  the  King  was 
enraged,  and  the  Queen  inconsolable.  However,,  the 
craft  of  Conon,  the  Court  astronomer,  discovered  a  way 
by  which  the  mysterious  disappearance  could  be  satis- 
factorily explained,  the  priests  absolved  of  all  blame,  and 
the  vanity  of  the  Queen  gratified.  The  wily  astronomer- 
courtier  declared  that  Jupiter  had  taken  the  locks  and 
transformed  them  into  a  constellation,  placing  it  in  that 
quarter  of  the  heavens  (the  "  Milky  Way  ")  by  which 
the  gods,  according  to  tradition,  passed  to  and  from 
Olympus.  This  pious  fraud  was  effected  by  annexing 
the  group  of  stars  which  formed  the  tail  of  the  constella- 


ABOUKIR  BAY  253 

tion  Leo,  and  declaring  that  this  cluster  of  stars  was  the 
new  constellation  into  which  Berenice's  locks  had  been 
transformed.  This  arbitrary  modification  of  the  celestial 
system  is  known  by  the  name  of  Coma  Berenices,  and  is 
still  retained  in  astronomical  charts. 

"  I  'mongst  the  stars  myself  resplendent  now, 
I,  who  once  curled  on  Berenice's  brow, 
The  tress  which  she,   uplifting  her  fair  arm, 
To  many  a  god  devoted,  so  from  harm 
They  might  protect  her  new-found  royal  mate, 
When  from  her  bridal  chamber  all  elate, 
With  its  sweet  triumph  flushed,  he  went  in  haste 
To  lay  the  regions  of  Assyria  waste."  * 

A  few  miles  northwest  of  Ramleh,  at  the  extremity  of 
the  western  horn  of  Aboukir  Bay,  lies  the  village  of 
Aboukir.  The  railway  to  Rosetta  skirts  that  bay  of 
glorious  memory,  and  as  the  traveller  passes  by  those 
silent  and  deserted  shores  which  fringe  the  watery  arena 
whereon  France  and  England  contended  for  the  Empire 
of  the  East,  he  lives  again  in  those  stirring  times,  and  the 
dramatic  episodes  of  that  famous  Battle  of  the  Nile  crowd 
upon  the  memory.  That  line  of  deep  blue  water,  bounded 
on  the  west  by  the  rocky  islet,  now  called  Nelson's  Island, 
and  on  the  east  by  Fort  St.  Julien  on  the  Rosetta  head- 
land, marks  the  position  of  the  French  fleet  on  the  ist 
of  August,  1798.  The  fleet  was  moored  in  the  form  of 
a  crescent  close  along  the  shore,  and  was  covered  by  the 
batteries  of  Fort  Aboukir.  So  confident  was  Brueys,  the 
French  Admiral,  in  the  strength  of  his  position,  and  in 
his  superiority  in  guns  and  men  (nearly  as  three  to  two) 
over  Nelson's  fleet,  that  he  sent  that  famous  despatch  to 
Paris,  declaring  that  the  enemy  was  purposely  avoiding 

*  Sir  Theodore  Martin. 


254  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

him.  Great  must  have  been  his  dismay  when  the  English 
fleet,  which  had  been  scouring  the  Mediterranean  with 
bursting  sails  for  six  long  weeks  in  search  of  him,  was 
signaled,  bearing  down  unflinchingly  upon  its  formid- 
able foe — that  foe  with  which  Nelson  had  vowed  he 
would  do  battle,  if  above  water,  even  if  he  had  to  sail  to 
the  Antipodes.  "  By  to-morrow  I  shall  have  gained  a 
peerage  or  Westminster  Abbey,"  were  the  historic  words 
uttered  by  the  English  Admiral  when  the  French  fleet 
was  sighted,  drawn  up  in  order  of  battle  in  Aboukir  Bay. 
The  soundings  of  this  dangerous  roadstead  were  un- 
known to  him,  but  declaring  that  "  where  there  was  room 
for  the  enemy  to  swing,  there  must  be  room  for  us  to 
anchor,"  he  ordered  his  leading  squadron  to  take  up  its 
position  to  the  landward  of  the  enemy.  The  remainder 
of  the  English  fleet  was  ordered  to  anchor  on  the  out- 
side of  the  enemy's  line,  but  at  close  quarters,  thus  doub- 
ling on  part  of  the  enemy's  line,  and  placing  it  in  a  defile 
of  fire.  In  short,  the  effect  of  this  brilliant  and  masterly 
disposition  of  the  English  fleet  was  to  surround  two- 
thirds  of  the  enemy's  ships,  and  cut  them  off  from  the 
support  of  their  consorts,  which  were  moored  too  far  off 
to  injure  the  enemy  or  aid  their  friends.  The  French 
Admiral,  in  spite  of  his  apparently  impregnable  position, 
was  consequently  out-manoeuvred  from  the  outset,  and 
the  victory  of  Nelson  virtually  assured. 

Evening  set  in  soon  after  Nelson  had  anchored.  All 
through  the  night  the  battle  raged  fiercely  and  uninter- 
mittently,  "  illuminated  by  the  incessant  discharge  of  over 
two  thousand  cannon,"  and  the  flames  which  burst  from 
the  disabled  ships  of  the  French  squadron.  The  sun  had 
set  upon  as  proud  a  fleet  as  ever  set  sail  from  the  shores 


BATTLE  OF  THE  NILE  255 

of  France,  and  morning  rose  upon  a  strangely  altered 
scene.  Shattered  and  blackened  hulks  now  only  marked 
the  position  they  had  occupied  but  a  few  hours  before. 
On  one  ship  alone,  the  Tonnant,  the  tricolor  was  flying. 
When  the  Theseus  drew  near  to  take  her  as  prize,  she 
hoisted  a  flag  of  truce,  but  kept  her  colors  flying.  ;<  Your 
battle  flag  or  none !  "  was  the  stern  reply,  as  her  enemy 
rounded  to  and  prepared'  to  board.  Slowly  and  reluc- 
tantly, like  an  expiring  hope,  that  pale  flag  fluttered  down 
her  lofty  spars,  and  the  next  that  floated  there  was  the 
standard  of  Old  England.  "  And  now  the  battle  was 
over — India  was  saved  upon  the  shores  of  Egypt — the 
career  of  Napoleon  was  checked,  and  his  navy  was  anni- 
hilated. Seven  years  later  that  navy  was  revived,  to 
perish  utterly  at  Trafalgar — a  fitting  hecatomb  for  the 
obsequies  of  Nelson,  whose  life  seemed  to  terminate  as 
his  mission  was  then  and  thus  accomplished."  The  glories 
of  Trafalgar,  immortalized  by  the  death  of  Nelson,  have 
no  doubt  obscured  to  some  extent  those  of  the  Nile.  The 
latter  engagement  has  not,  indeed,  been  enshrined  in  the 
memory  of  Englishmen  by  popular  ballads — those  instan- 
taneous photographs,  as  they  might  be  called,  of  the  high- 
est thoughts  and  strongest  emotions  inspired  by  patriotism 
— but  hardly  any  great  sea-fight  of  modern  times  has  been 
more  prolific  in  brilliant  achievements  of  heroism  and 
deeds  of  splendid  devotion  than  the  Battle  of  the  Nile. 
The  traditions  of  this  terrible  combat  have  not  yet  died 
out  among  the  Egyptians  and  Arabs,  whose  forefathers 
had  lined  the  shores  of  the  bay  on  that  memorable  night, 
and  watched  with  mingled  terror  and  astonishment  the 
destruction  of  that  great  armament.  It  was  with  some 
idea  of  the  moral  effect  the  landing  of  English  troops  on 


256  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  shores  of  this  historic  bay  would  have  on  Arabi's 
soldiery,  that  Lord  Wolseley  contemplated  disembarking 
there  the  English  expeditionary  force  in  August,  1882. 

On  the  eastern  horn  of  Aboukir  Bay,  on  the  Rosetta 
branch  of  the  Nile,  and  about  five  miles  from  its  mouth, 
lies  the  picturesque  town  of  Rosetta.  Its  Arabic  name  is 
Rashid,  an  etymological  coincidence  which  has  induced 
some  writers  to  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  the  birth- 
place of  Haroun  Al  Rashid.  To  some  persons  no  doubt 
the  town  would  be  shorn  of  much  of  its  interest  if  disso- 
ciated from  our  old  friend  of  "  The  Thousand  and  One 
Nights ;  "  but  the  indisputable  fact  remains  that  Haroun 
Al  Rashid  died  some  seventy  years  before  the  foundation 
of  the  town  in  A.  D.  870.  Rosetta  was  a  port  of  some 
commercial  importance  until  the  opening  of  the  Mah- 
moudiyeh  Canal  in  1819  diverted  most  of  its  trade  to 
Alexandria.  The  town  is  not  devoid  of  architectural  in- 
terest, and  many  fragments  of  ruins  may  be  met  with  in 
the  half-deserted  streets,  and  marble  pillars,  which  bear 
signs  of  considerable  antiquity,  may  be  noticed  built  into 
the  doorways  of  the  comparatively  modern  houses.  One 
of  the  most  interesting  architectural  features  of  Rosetta 
is  the  North  Gate,  flanked  with  massive  towers  of  a  form 
unusual  in  Egypt,  each  tower  being  crowned  with  a 
conical-shaped  roof.  Visitors  will  probably  have  noticed 
the  curious  gabled  roofs  and  huge  projecting  windows 
of  most  of  the  houses.  It  was  from  these  projecting  door- 
ways and  latticed  windows  that  such  fearful  execution 
was  done  to  the  British  troops  at  the  time  of  the  ill-fated 
English  expedition  to  Egypt  in  1807.  General  Wauchope 
had  been  sent  by  General  Eraser,  who  was  in  command 
of  the  troops,  with  an  absurdly  inadequate  force  of  1,200 
men  to  take  the  strongly-garrisoned  town.  Mehemet 


ROSETTA  257 

All's  Albanian  troops  had  purposely  left  the  gates  open 
in  order  to  draw  the  English  force  into  the  narrow  and 
winding  streets.  Their  commander,  without  any  previous 
examination,  rushed  blindly  into  the  town  with  all  his 
men.  The  Albanian  soldiery  waited  till  the  English  were 
confined  in  this  infernal  labyrinth  of  narrow,  crooked 
streets,  and  then  from  every  window  and  housetop  rained 
down  on  them  a  perfect  hail  of  musket-shot  and  rifle- 
ball.  Before  the  officers  could  extricate  their  men  from 
this  terrible  death-trap  a  third  of  the  troops  had  fallen. 
Such  was  the  result  of  this  rash  and  futile  expedition, 
which  dimmed  the  lustre  of  their  arms  in  Egypt,  and 
contributed  a  good  deal  to  the  loss  of  their  military  pres- 
tige. That  this  crushing  defeat  should  have  taken  place 
so  near  the  scene  of  the  most  glorious  achievement  of 
their  arms  but  a  few  years  before,  was  naturally  thought 
a  peculiar  aggravation  of  the  failure  of  this  ill-advised 
expedition. 

To  archaeological  students  and  Egyptologists  Rosetta 
is  a  place  of  the  greatest  interest,  as  it  was  in -its  neighbor- 
hood that  the  famous  inscribed  stone  was  found  which 
furnished  the  clue — sought  in  vain  for  so  many  years  by 
Egyptian  scholars — to  the  hieroglyphic  writings  of 
Egypt.  Perhaps  none  of  the  archaeological  discoveries 
made  in  Egypt  since  the  land  was  scientifically  exploited 
by  the  savants  attached  to  Napoleon's  expedition,  not 
even  that  of  the  mummified  remains  of  the  Pharaohs,  is 
more  precious  in  the  eyes  of  Egyptologists  and  antiqua- 
rians than  this  comparatively  modern  and  ugly-looking 
block  of  black  basalt,  which  now  reposes  in  the  Egyptian 
galleries  of  the  British  Museum.  The  story  of  its  dis- 
covery is  interesting.  A  certain  Monsieur  Bouchard,  a 
French  Captain  of  Engineers,  while  making  some  excava- 


258  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

tions  at  Fort  St.  Julien,  a  small  fortress  in  the  vicinity  of 
Rosetta,  discovered  this  celebrated  stone  in  1799.  The 
interpretation  of  the  inscription  for  many  years  defied  all 
the  efforts  of  the  most  learned  French  savants  and  Ene- 

o 

lish  scholars,  until,  in  1822,  two  well-known  Egyptolo- 
gists, Champollion  and  Dr.  Young,  after  independent 
study  and  examination,  succeeded  in  deciphering  that 
part  of  the  inscription  which  was  in  Greek  characters. 
From  this  they  learnt  that  the  inscription  was  triplicate 
and  trilingual :  one  in  Greek,  the  other  in  the  oldest  form 
of  hieroglyphics,  the  purest  kind  of  "  picture-writing," 
and  the  third  in  demotic  characters — the  last  being  the 
form  of  hieroglyphics  used  by  the  people,  in  which  the 
symbols  are  more  obscure  than  in  the  pure  hieroglyphics 
used  by  the  priests.  The  inscription,  when  finally  de- 
ciphered, proved  to  be  one  of  comparatively  recent  date, 
being  a  decree  of  Ptolemy  V.,  issued  in  the  year  196  B.  c. 
The  Rosetta  stone  was  acquired  by  England  as  part  of 
the  spoils  of  war  in  the  Egyptian  expedition  of  1801. 

At  Rosetta  the  railway  leaves  the  coast  and  goes  south 
to  Cairo. 

If  the  traveller  wishes  to  see  something  of  the  agricul- 
ture of  the  Delta,  he  would  get  some  idea  of  the  astonish- 
ing fertility  of  the  country  by  merely  taking  the  train  to 
Damanhour,  the  center  of  the  cotton-growing  district. 
The  journey  does  not  take  more  than  a  couple  of  hours. 
The  passenger  travelling*  by  steamer  from  Alexandria  to 
Port  Said,  though  he  skirts  the  coast,  can  see  no  signs 
of  the  agricultural  wealth  of  Egypt,  and  for  him  the 
whole  of  Egypt  might  be  an  arid  desert  instead  of  one 
of  the  most  fertile  districts  in  the  whole  world.  The  area 
of  cultivated  lands,  which,  however,  extends  yearly  sea- 
wards, is  separated  from  the  coast  by  a  belt  composed  of 


OVERFLOW  OF  THE  NILE  259 

strips  of  sandy  desert,  marshy  plain,  low  sandhills,  and 
salt  lagunes,  which  varies  in  breadth  from  fifteen  to 
thirty  miles.  A  line  drawn  from  Alexandria  to  Damietta, 
through  the  southern  shore  of  Lake  Boorlos,  marks  ap- 
proximately the  limit  of  cultivated  land  in  this  part  of 
the  Delta.  The  most  unobservant  traveller  in  Egypt  can- 
not help  perceiving  that  its  sole  industry  is  agriculture, 
and  that  the  bulk  of  its  inhabitants  are  tillers  of  the  soil. 
Egypt  seems,  indeed,  intended  by  nature  to  be  the  gran- 
ary and  market-garden  of  North  Africa,  and  the  pros- 
perity of  the  country  depends  on  its  being  allowed  to 
retain  its  place  as  a  purely  agricultural  country.  The 
ill-advised,  but  fortunately  futile,  attempts  which  have 
been  made  by  recent  rulers  to  develop  manufactures  at 
the  expense  of  agriculture,  are  the  outcome  of  a  short- 
sighted policy  or  perverted  ambition.  Experience  has 
proved  that  every  acre  diverted  from  its  ancient  and 
rational  use  as  a  bearer  of  crops  is  a  loss  to  the  national 
wealth. 

That  "  Egypt  is  the  gift  of  the  Nile  "  has  been  insisted 
upon  with  "  damnable  iteration "  by  every  writer  on 
Egypt,  from  Herodotus  dowriwards.  According  to  the 
popular  etymology,*  the  very  name  of  the  Nile  ( Nef  Ao?, 
from  vca  iXiis,  new  mud)  testifies  to  its  peculiar  fer- 
tilizing properties.  The  Nile  is  all  in  all  to  the  Egyptian, 
and  can  we  wonder  that  Egyptian  mythologists  recog- 
nized in  it  the  Creative  Principle  waging  eternal  warfare 
with  Typhon,  the  Destructive  Principle,  represented  by 
the  encroaching  desert?  As  Mr.  Stanley  Lane-Poole  has 
well  observed,  "  without  the  Nile  there  would  be  no 

*  In  Homeric  times,  as  is  shown  by  the  Odyssey,  the  Nile  was 
called  AtyVTtrog,  a  name  which  was  afterwards  transferred  to  the 
country. 


260  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Egypt;  the  great  African  Sahara  would  spread  uninter- 
ruptedly to  the  Red  Sea.  Egypt  is,  in  short,  a  long  oasis 
worn  in  the  rocky  desert  by  the  ever-flowing  stream,  and 
made  green  and  fertile  by  its  waters." 

At  Cairo  the  Nile  begins  to  rise  about  the  third  week 
in  June,  and  the  beginning  of  the  overflow  coincides  with 
the  heliacal  rising  of  the  Dog  Star.  The  heavens  have 
been  called  the  clocks  of  the  Ancients,  and,  according  to 
some  writers,  it  was  the  connection  between  the  rise  of 
the  Nile  and  that  of  the  Dog  Star  that  first  opened  the 
way  to  the  study  of  astronomy  among  the  ancient  Egyp- 
tians, so  that  not  only  was  the  Nile  the  creator  of  their 
country,  but  also  of  their  science.  The  fellahs,  however, 
still  cherish  a  lingering  belief  in  the  supernatural  origin 
of  the  overflow.  They  say  that  a  miraculous  drop  of 
water  falls  into  the  Nile  on  the  i/th  of  June,  which  causes 
the  river  to  swell.  Till  September  the  river  continues  to 
rise,  not  regularly,  but  by  leaps  and  bounds.  In  this 
month  it  attains  its  full  height,  and  then  gradually  sub- 
sides till  it  reaches  its  normal  height  in  the  winter  months. 

As  is  well  known,  the  quality  of  the  harvest  depends 
on  the  height  of  the  annual  overflow — a  rise  of  not  less 
than  eighteen  feet  at  Cairo  being  just  sufficient,  while  a 
rise  of  over  twenty-six  feet,  or  thereabouts,  would  cause 
irreparable  damage.  It  is  a  common  notion  that  a  very 
high  Nile  is  beneficial ;  whereas  an  excessive  inundation 
would  do  far  more  harm  to  the  country  than  an  abnormal 
deficiency  of  water.  Statistics  show  conclusively  that 
most  of  the  famines  in  Egypt  have  occurred  after  an  ex- 
ceptionally high  Nile.  Shakespeare,  who,  we  know,  is 
often  at  fault  in  matters  of  natural  science,  is  perhaps 
partly  accountable  for  this  popular  error :-. — "  The  higher 


DAMIETTA  261 

Nilus  swells,  the  more  it  promises,"  he  makes  Antony 
say,  when  describing  the  wonders  of  Egypt  to  Caesar. 

The  coast  between  Rosetta  and  Port  Said  is,  like  the 
rest  of  the  Egyptian  littoral,  flat  and  monotonous.  The 
only  break  in  the  dreary  vista  is  afforded  by  the  pictur- 
esque-looking town  of  Damietta,  which,  with  its  lofty 
houses,  looking  in  the  distance  like  marble  palaces,  has  a 
striking  appearance  seen  from  the  sea.  The  town,  though 
containing  some  spacious  bazaars  and  several  large  and 
well-proportioned  mosques,  has  little  to  attract  the  visitor, 
and  there  are  no  antiquities  or  buildings  of  any  historic 
interest.  The  traveller,  full  of  the  traditions  of  the  Cru- 
sades, who  expects  to  find  some  traces  of  Saladin  and 
the  Saracens,  will  be  doomed  to  disappointment.  Da- 
mietta is  comparatively  modern,  the  old  Byzantine  city 
having  been  destroyed  by  the  Arabs  early  in  the  thir- 
teenth century,  and  rebuilt — at  a  safer  distance  from  in- 
vasion by  sea — a  few  miles  inland,  under  the  name  of 
Mensheeyah.  One  of  the  gateways  of  the  modern  town, 
the  Mensheeyah  Gate,  serves  as  a  reminder  of  its  former 
name.  Though  the  trade  of  Damietta  has,  in  common 
with  most  of  the  Delta  sea-ports,  declined  since  the  con- 
struction of  the  Mahmoudiyeh  Canal,  it  is  still  a  town  of 
some  commercial  importance,  and  consular  representatives 
of  several  European  powers  are  stationed  here.  To 
sportsmen  Damietta  offers  special  advantages,  as  it  makes 
capital  headquarters  for  the  wild-fowl  shooting  on  Men- 
zaleh  Lake,  which  teems  with  aquatic  birds  of  all  kinds. 
Myriads  of  wild  duck  may  be  seen  feeding  here,  and 
"  big  game  " — if  the  expression  can  be  applied  to  birds — 
in  the  shape  of  herons,  pelicans,  storks,  flamingoes,  etc., 
is  plentiful.  In  the  marshes  which  abut  on  the  lake,  speci- 


262  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

mens  of  the  papyrus  are  to  be  found,  this  neighborhood 
being  one  of  the  few  habitats  of  this  rare  plant.  Soon 
after  rounding  the  projecting  ridge  of  low  sand-hills 
which  fringe  the  estuary  of  the  Damietta  Branch  of  the 
Nile,  the  noble  proportions  of  the  loftiest  lighthouse  of 
the  Mediterranean  come  into  view.  It  is  fitted  with  one 
of  the  most  powerful  electric  lights  in  the  world,  its  pene- 
trating rays  being  visible  on  a  clear  night  at  a  distance 
of  over  twenty-five  miles.  Shortly  afterwards  the  forest 
of  masts,  apparently  springing  out  of  the  desert,  informs 
the  passenger  of  the  near  vicinity  of  Port  Said. 

There  is,  of  course,  nothing  to  see  at  Port  Said  from 
a  tourist's  standpoint.  The  town  is  little  more  than  a 
large  coaling  station,  and  is  of  very  recent  growth.  It 
owes  its  existence  solely  to  the  Suez  Canal,  and  to  the  fact 
that  the  water  at  that  part  of  the  coast  is  deeper  than  at 
Pelusium,  where  the  isthmus  is  narrowest.  The  town  is 
built  partly  on  artificial  foundations  on  the  strip  of  low 
sand-banks  which  forms  a  natural  sea-wall  protecting 
Lake  Menzaleh  from  the  Mediterranean.  In  the  autumn 
at  high  Nile  it  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  water.  An 
imaginative  writer  once  called  Port  Said  the  Venice  of 
Africa — not  a  very  happy  description,  as  the  essentially 
modern  appearance  of  this  coaling  station  strikes  the  most 
unobservant  visitor.  The  comparison  might  for  its  in- 
appositeness  rank  with  the  proverbial  one  between  Mace- 
don  and  Monmouth.  Both  Venice  and  Port  Said  are 
land-locked,  and  that  is  the  only  feature  they  have  in 
common. 

The  sandy  plains  in  the  vicinity  of  the  town  are,  how- 
ever, full  of  interest  to  the  historian  and  archaeologist. 
Here  may  be  found  ruins  and  remains  of  antiquity  which 
recall  a  period  of  civilization  reaching  back  more  cen- 


PORT  SAID  263 

turies  than  Port  Said  (built  in  1859)  does  years.  The 
ruins  of  Pelusium  (the  Sin  of  the  Old  Testament),  the 
key  of  Northeastern  Egypt  in  the  Pharaonic  period,  are 
only  eighteen  miles  distant,  and  along  the  shore  may  still 
be  traced  a  few  vestiges  of  the  great  highway — the  oldest 
road  in  the  world  of  which  remains  exist — constructed  by 
Rameses  II.,  in  1350  B.  c.,  when  he  undertook  his  expedi- 
tion for  the  conquest  of  Syria. 

To  come  to  more  recent  history.  It  was  on  the  Pelu- 
siac  shores  that  Cambyses  defeated  the  Egyptians,  and 
here  some  five  centuries  later  Pompey  the  Great  was 
treacherously  murdered  when  he  fled  to  Egypt,  after  the 
Battle  of  Pharsalia. 

To  the  southwest  of  Port  Said,  close  to  the  wretched 
little  fishing  village  of  Sais,  situated  on  the  southern  shore 
of  Lake  Menzaleh,  are  the  magnificent  ruins  of  Tanis 
(the  Zoan  of  the  Old  Testament).  These  seldom  visited 
remains  are  only  second  to  those  of  Thebes  in  historical 
and  archaeological  interest.  It  is  a  little  curious  that 
while  tourists  flock  in  crowds  to  distant  Thebes  and  Kar- 
nak,  few  take  the  trouble  to  visit  the  easily  accessible  ruins 
of  Tanis.  The  ruins  were  uncovered  at  great  cost  of 
labor  by  the  late  Mariette  Bey,  and  in  the  great  temple 
were  unearthed  some  of  the  most  notable  monuments  of 
the  Pharaohs,  including  over  a  dozen  gigantic  fallen 
obelisks — a  larger  number  than  any  Theban  temple  con- 
tains. This  vast  building,  restored  and  enlarged  by  Ra- 
meses II.,  goes  back  to  over  five  thousand  years.  As 
Thebes  declined  Tanis  rose  in  importance,  and  under  the 
kings  of  the  Twenty-first  Dynasty  it  became  the  chief 
seat  of  Government.  Mr.  John  Macgregor  (Rob  Roy), 
who  was  one  of  the  first  of  modern  travellers  to  call  at- 
tention to  these  grand  ruins,  declares  that  of  all  the  cele- 


264  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

brated  remains  he  had  seen  none  impressed  him  "  so 
deeply  with  the  sense  of  fallen  and  deserted  magnifi- 
cence "  as  the  ruined  temple  of  Tanis. 

The  Suez  Canal  is  admittedly  one  of  the  greatest  under- 
takings of  modern  times,  and  has  perhaps  effected  a 
greater  transformation  in  the  world's  commerce,  during 
the  thirty  years  that  have  elapsed  since  its  completion, 
than  has  been  effected  in  the  same  period  by  the  agency 
of  steam.  It  was  emphatically  the  work  of  one  man,  and 
of  one,  too,  who  was  devoid  of  the  slightest  technical 
training  in  the  engineering  profession.  Monsieur  de 
Lesseps  cannot,  of  course,  claim  any  originality  in  the 
conception  of  this  great  undertaking,  for  the  idea  of  open- 
ing up  communication  between  the  Mediterranean  and 
the  Red  Sea  by  means  of  a  maritime  canal  is  almost  as 
old  as  Egypt  itself,  and  many  attempts  were  made  by  the 
rulers  of  Egypt  from  Sesostris  downwards  to  span  the 
Isthmus  with  "  a  bridge  of  water."  Most  of  these  pro- 
jects proved  abortive,  though  there  was  some  kind  of 
water  communication  between  the  two  seas  in  the  time  of 
the  Ptolemies,  and  it  was  by  this  canal  that  Cleopatra 
attempted  to  escape  after  the  battle  of  Actium.  When 
Napoleon  the  Great  occupied  Egypt,  he  went  so  far  as 
to  appoint  a  commission  of  engineers  to  examine  into  a 
projected  scheme  for  a  maritime  canal,  but  owing  to  the 
ignorance  of  the  commissioners,  who  reported  that  there 
was  a  difference  of  thirty  feet  in  the  levels  of  the  two 
seas — though  there  is  really  scarcely  more  than  six  inches 
— which  would  necessitate  vast  locks,  and  involve  enor- 
mous outlay  of  money,  the  plan  was  given  up. 

The  Suez  Canal  is,  in  short,  the  work  of  one  great  man, 
and  its  existence  is  due  to  the  undaunted  courage,  the  in- 
domitable energy,  to  the  intensity  of  conviction,  and  to 


THE  SUEZ  CANAL  265 

the  magnetic  personality  of  M.  de  Lesseps,  which  influ- 
enced everyone  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  from 
Viceroy  down  to  the  humblest  fellah.  This  great  pro- 
ject was  carried  out,  too,  not  by  a  professional  engineer, 
but  by  a  mere  consular  clerk,  and  was  executed  in  spite 
of  the  most  determined  opposition  of  politicians  and 
capitalists,  and  in  the  teeth  of  the  mockery  and  ridicule 
of  practical  engineers,  who  affected  to  sneer  at  the  scheme 
as  the  chimerical  dream  of  a  vainglorious  Frenchman. 

The  Canal,  looked  at  from  a  purely  picturesque  stand- 
point, does  not  present  such  striking  features  as  other 
great  monuments  of  engineering  skill —  the  Forth  Bridge, 
the  Mont  Cenis  Tunnel,  or  the  great  railway  which  scales 
the  highest  peaks  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  This  "  huge 
ditch/'  as  it  has  been  contemptuously  called, '"has  not 
indeed  been  carried  over  high  mountains,  nor  cut  through 
rock-bound  tunnels,  nor  have  its  waters  been  confined  by 
Titanic  masses  of  masonry."  In  fact,  technically  speak- 
ing, the  name  canal  as  applied  to  this  channel  is  a  mis- 
nomer. It  has  nothing  in  common  with  other  canals — 
no  locks,  gates,  reservoirs,  nor  pumping  engines.  It  is 
really  an  artificial  strait,  or  a  prolongation  of  an  arm 
of  the  sea.  We  can  freely  concede  this,  yet  to  those  of 
imaginative  temperament  there  are  elements  of  romance 
about  this  great  enterprise.  It  is  the  creation  of  a  nine- 
teenth-century wizard  who,  with  his  enchanter's  wand — 
the  spade — has  transformed  the  shape  of  the  globe,  and 
summoned  the  sea  to  flow  uninterruptedly  from  the  Medi- 
terranean to  the  Indian  Ocean.  Then,  too,  the  most 
matter-of-fact  traveller  who  traverses  it  can  hardly  fail 
to  be  impressed  with  the  genius  loci.  Every  mile  of  the 
Canal  passes  through  a  region  enriched  by  the  memories 
of  events  which  had  their  birth  in  the  remotest  ages  of 


266  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

antiquity.  Across  this  plain  four  thousand  years  ago 
Abraham  wandered  from  far-away  Ur  of  the  Chaldees. 
Beyond  the  placid  waters  of  Lake  Menzaleh  lie  the  ruins 
of  Zoan,  where  Moses  performed  his  miracles.  On  the 
right  lies  the  plain  of  Pelusium,  across  which  Rameses  II. 
led  his  great  expedition  for  the  conquest  of  Syria;  and 
across  this  sandy  highway  the  hosts  of  Persian,  Greek, 
and  Roman  conquerors  successively  swept  to  take  posses- 
sion of  the  riches  of  Egypt.  In  passing  through  the  Canal 
at  night — the  electric  light  seeming  as  a  pillar  of  fire  to 
the  steamer,  as  it  swiftly,  but  silently,  ploughs  its  course 
through,  the  desert — the  strange  impressiveness  of  the 
scene  is  intensified.  "  The  Canal  links  together  in  sweep- 
ing contrast  the  great  Past  and  the  greater  Present,  point- 
ing to  a  future  which  we  are  as  little  able  to  divine,  as 
were  the  Pharaohs  or  Ptolemies  of  old  to  forecast  the 
wonders  of  the  twentieth  century." 


XII 
MALTA 

"  England's  Eye  in  the  Mediterranean  " — Vast  systems  of  forti- 
fications— Sentinels  and  martial  music — The  Strada  Reale  of 
Valletta— Church  of  St.  John— St.  Elmo— The  Military  Hos- 
pital, the  "  very  glory  of  Malta  " — Citta  Vecchia — Saint  Paul 
and  his  voyages. 

THERE  is  a  difference  of  opinion  among  voy- 
agers as  to  whether  it  is  best  to  approach  Malta 
by  night  or  by  day;  whether  there  is  a  greater 
charm  in  tracing  the  outline  of  "  England's  Eye  in  the 
Mediterranean  "  by  the  long,  undulating  lines  of  light 
along  its  embattled  front,  and  then,  as  the  sun  rises,  to 
permit  the  details  to  unfold  themselves,  or  to  see  the 
entire  mass  of  buildings  and  sea  walls  and  fortifications 
take  shape  according  to  the  rapidity  with  which  the  ship 
nears  the  finest  of  all  the  British  havens  in  the  Middle 
Sea.  Much  might  be  said  for  both  views,  and  if  by 
"  Malta  "  is  meant  its  metropolis,  then  the  visitor  would 
miss  a  good  deal  who  did  not  see  the  most  picturesque 
portion  of  the  island  in  both  of  these  aspects.  And  by 
far  the  majority  of  those  who  touch  at  Valletta,  on  their 
way  to  or  from  some  other  place,  regard  this  city  as 
"  the  colony  "  in  miniature.  Many,  indeed,  are  barely 
aware  that  it  has  a  name  apart  from  that  of  the  island 
on  which  it  is  built;  still  fewer  that  the  "Villa"  of 
La  Valletta  is  only  one  of  four  fortified  towns  all  run 

267 


268  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

into  one,  and  that  over  the  surface  of  this  thickly  pop- 
ulated clump  are  scattered  scores  of  villages,  while  their 
entire  coasts  are  circled  by  a  ring  of  forts  built  wherever 
the  cliffs  are  not  steep  enough  to  serve  as  barriers  against 
an  invader.  On  the  other  hand,  while  there  is  no  spot 
in  the  Maltese  group  half  so  romantic,  or  any  "  casal  " 
a  tithe  as  magnificent  as  Valletta  and  its  suburbs,  it  is  a 
little  unfortunate  for  the  scenic  reputation  of  the  chief 
island-fortress  that  so  few  visitors  see  any  other  part  cf 
it  than  the  country  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  its  prin- 
cipal town.  For,  if  none  of  the  islands  are  blessed  with 
striking  scenery,  that  of  Malta  proper  is  perhaps  the 
least  attractive. 

Though  less  than  sixty  miles  from  Sicily,  these  placid 
isles  oft  though  they  have  been  shaken  by  earthquakes, 
do  not  seem  to  have  ever  been  troubled  by  the  volcanic 
outbursts  of  Etna.  Composed  of  a  soft,  creamy  rock, 
dating  from  the  latest  geological  period,  the  elephants 
and  hippopotami  disinterred  from  their  caves  show  that, 
at  a  time  when  the  Mediterranean  stretched  north  and 
south  over  broad  areas  which  are  now  dry  land,  these 
islands  were  still  under  water,  and  that  at  a  date  com- 
paratively recent,  before  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  had  been 
opened,  and  when  the  contracted  Mediterranean  was  only 
a  couple  of  lakes  Malta  was  little  more  than  a  peninsula 
of  Africa.  Indeed,  so  modern  is  the  group  as  we  know 
it,  that  within  the  human  era  Comino  seems  to  have 
been  united  with  the  islands  on  each  side  of  it.  For, 
as  the  deep  wheel-ruts  on  the  opposite  shores  of  the  two 
nearer  islands,  even  at  some  distance  in  the  water,  dem- 
onstrate, the  intervening  straits  have  either  been  recently 
formed,  or  were  at  one  period  so  shallow  as  to  be  ford- 
able. 


BENGEMMA  MOUNTAINS  269 

But  if  it  be  open  to  doubt  whether  night  or  day  is  the 
best  time  to  make  our  first  acquaintance  with  Malta, 
there  can  be  none  as  to  the  season  of  the  year  when  it 
may  be  most  advantageously  visited ;  for  if  the  tourist 
comes  to  Malta  in  spring,  he  will  find  the  country  bright 
with  flowers,  and  green  with  fields  of  wheat  and  barley, 
and  cumin  and  "  sulla  "  clover,  or  cotton,  and  even  with 
plots  of  sugar-cane,  tobacco,  and  the  fresh  foliage  of 
vineyards  enclosed  by  hedges  of  prickly  pears  ready  to 
burst  into  gorgeous  blossom.  Patches  of  the  famous 
Maltese  potatoes  flourish  cheek  by  jowl  with  noble  crops 
of  beans  and  melons.  Figs  and  pomegranates,  peaches, 
pears,  apricots,  and  medlars  are  in  blossom ;  and  if  the  • 
curious  pedestrian  peers  over  the  orchard  walls,  he  may 
sight  oranges  and  lemons  gay  with  the  flowers  of  which 
the  fragrance  is  scenting  the  evening  air.  But  in  au- 
tumn, when  the  birds  of  passage  arrive  for  the  winter, 
the  land  has  been  burnt  into  barrenness  by  the  summer 
sun  of  the  scorching  sirocco.  The  soil,  thin,  but 
amazingly  fertile,  and  admirably  suited  by  its  spongy 
texture  to  retain  the  moisture,  looks  white  and  parched 
as  it  basks  in  the  hot  sunshine ;  and  even  the  gardens, 
enclosed  by  high  stone  walls  to  shelter  them  from  the 
torrid  winds  from  Africa,  or  the  wild  "'  gregale  "  from 
the  north,  or  the  Levanter  which  sweeps  damp  and  de- 
pressing towards  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  fail  to  relieve 
the  dusty,  chalk-like  aspect  of  the  landscape.  Hills  there 
are — they  are  called  the  "  Bengemma  mountains  "  by  the 
proud  Maltese — but  they  are  mere  hillocks  to  the  scoffer 
from  more  Alpine  regions,  for  at  Ta-1'aghlia,  the  highest 
elevation  in  Malta,  750  feet  is  the  total  tale  told  by  the 
barometer,  while  it  is  seldom  that  the  sea  cliffs  reach 
half  that  height.  The  valleys  in  the  undulating  surface 


270  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

are  in  proportion,  and  even  they  and  the  little  glens  worn 
by  the  watercourses  are  bald,  owing  to  the  absence  of 
wood ;  for  what  timber  grew  in  ancient  times  has  long 
ago  been  hewn  down,  and  the  modern  Maltee  has  so 
inveterate  a  prejudice  against  green  leaves  which  are  not 
saleable  that  he  is  said  to  have  quietly  uprooted  the  trees 
which  a  paternal  Government  planted  for  the  supposed 
benefit  of  unappreciative  children.  Hence,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  bosky  grove  around  some  ancient  palace  of 
the  knights,  or  a  few  carob  trees,  so  low  that  the  goats 
in  lack  of  humble1  fodder  can,  as  in  Morocco,  climb  into 
them  for  a  meal,  the  rural  districts  of  Malta  lack  the 
light  and  shade  which  forests  afford,  just  as  its  arid 
scenery  is  unrelieved  either  by  lake,  or  river,  or  by  any 
brook  worthy  of  the  name.  However,  as  the  blue  sea, 
running  into  inlet  and  bay,  or  ending  the  vista  of  some 
narrow  street,  or  driving  the  spray  before  the  "  tempes- 
tuous "  wind,  called  "  Euroklydon,"  is  seldom  out  of 
sight,  the  sparkle  of  inland  water  is  less  missed  than  it 
would  be  were  the  country  larger. 

But  Malta  proper  is  only  one  of  the  Maltese  group. 
As  the  geography  books  have  it,  there  are  three  main 
islands,  Malta,  Gozo,  and  between  them  the  little  one  of 
Comino,  which  with  Cominetto,  a  still  smaller  islet  close 
by,  seems  to  have  been  the  crest  of  a  land  of  old,  sub- 
merged beneath  the  sea.  The  voyager  is  barely  out  of 
sight  of  Sicily  before  the  faint  outlines  of  these  isles  are 
detected,  like  sharply  defined  clouds  against  a  serenely 
blue  sky.  Yet,  undeniably,  the  first  view  of  Malta  is 
disappointing ;  for  with  Etna  fresh  in  the  memory  of  the 
visitor  from  one  direction,  and  the  great  Rock  of  Gi- 
braltar vivid  in  the  recollection  of  those  arriving  from 
the  other  end  of  the  Mediterranean,  there  is  little  in  any 


HAGRA  TAL  GENERAL  271 

of  the  three  islands  to  strike  the  imagination.  For  most 
of  the  picturesqueness  of  Malta  is  due  to  the  works  of 
man,  and  all  of  its  romance  to  the  great  names  and 
mighty  events  with  which  its  historic  shores  are  as- 
sociated. But  there  are  also  around  the  coasts  of  this 
major  member  of  the  Maltese  clump  the  tiny  Filfla,  with 
its  venerable  church;  the  Pietro  Negro,  or  Black  Rock; 
Gzeier  sanctified  by  the  wreck  of  St.  Paul;  and  Scoglio 
Marfo,  on  which  a  few  fishermen  encamp,  or  which 
grow  grass  enough  for  some  rabbits  or  a  frugal  goat  or 
two ;  and,  great  in  fame  though  small  in  size,  the  Hagra 
tal  General,  or  Fungus  Rock,  on  which  still  flourishes 
that  curious  parasitic  plant,  the  Fungus  Melitensis  of 
the  old  botanists,  the  Cynomorium  coccineum  of  latter- 
day  systematists.  The  visitor  who  has  the  curiosity  to 
land  on  the  rock  in  April  or  May  will  find  it  in  full 
flower,  and  perhaps,  considering  its  ancient  reputation, 
may  be  rather  disappointed  with  the  appearance  of  a 
weed  which  at  one  time  enjoyed  such  a  reputation  as  a 
stauncher  of  blood  and  a  sovereign  remedy  for  a  host  of 
other  diseases  that  the  Knights  of  Malta  stored  it  care- 
fully as  a  gift  for  friendly  monarchs  and  to  the  hospitals 
of  the  island.  It  is  less  valued  in  our  times,  though  until 
very  recently  the  keeper  of  the  rock  on  which  it  flourishes 
most  abundantly  was  a  permanent  official  in  the  colonial 
service.  The  place  indeed  is  seldom  profaned  nowadays 
by  human  feet ;  for  the  box  drawn  in  a  pulley  by  two 
cables,  which  was  the  means  of  crossing  the  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  of  sea  between  the  rocks  and  the  shore  of 
Dueira,  was  broken  down  some  years  ago,  and  has  not 
since  been  renewed.  But,  apart  from  these  scientific 
associations  of  this  outlier  of  Gozo,  the  second  largest 
island  of  the  Maltese  group  is  worthy  of  being  more 


272  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

frequently  examined  than  it  is,  albeit  the  lighthouse  of 
Ta  Giurdan  is  familiar  enough  to  every  yachtsman  in 
the  "  Magnum  Mare."  For  it  is  the  first  bit  of  Malta 
seen  from  the  west,  and  the  last  memory  of  it  which  the 
home-coming  exile  sights  as  he  returns  with  a  lighter 
heart  from  the  East.  Yet  except  for  its  classical  mem- 
ories (it  was  the  fable  isle  of  Calypso,  the  Gaulos  of  the 
Greeks,  the  Gaulum  of  the  Romans,  and  the  Ghaudex  of 
the  Arabs,  a  name  still  in  use  among  the  natives),  the 
tourist  in  search  of  the  picturesque  will  not  find  a  great 
deal  to  gratify  him  in  Gozo,  with  its  bay-indented  shore, 
rugged  in  places,  but  except  in  the  southern  and  western 
coast  rarely  attaining  a  height  of  three  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea.  Still,  its  pleasing  diversity  of  hill  and 
dale,  its  occasional  groves  of  trees,  and  the  flourishing 
gardens  from  which  Valletta  market  is  supplied  with  a 
great  portion  of  its  vegetables,  lend  an  appearance  of 
rural  beauty  to  Gozo  seldom  seen  or  altogether  lacking 
in  the  rest  of  the  group.  Gozo  appears  to  have  suffered 
less  from  foreign  invasions  than  Malta  or  even  Comino. 
Its  goat  cheese  still  preserves  something  of  the  reputa- 
tion that  comestible  obtained  in  days  when  the  world 
had  a  limited  acquaintance  with  dairy  produce,  and  the 
"  Maltese  jacks,"  potent  donkeys  (the  very  antipodes  of 
their  tiny  kindred  on  the  Barbary  coast)  are  mostly  ex- 
ported from  this  spot.  But,  like  the  peculiar  dogs  and 
cats  of  the  group,  they  are  now  getting  scarce. 

The  appearance  of  the  Gozitans  also  is  somewhat  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  their  countrymen  elsewhere,  and  they 
speak  the  Maltese  tongue  with  a  closer  approach  to  the 
Arabic  than  do  the  inhabitants  of  the  other  islands, 
whose  speech  has  become  intermingled  with  that  of  every 
Mediterranean  race,  from  the  Tynans  to  the  Italians, 


GOZO  273 

though  the  basis  of  it  is  unquestionably  Phoenician,  and 
is  gradually  getting  dashed  with  the  less  sonorous  lan- 
guage of  their  latest  rulers.  Indeed,  the  lamps  in  daily 
use  are  identical  in  shape  with  the  earthenware  ones  dis- 
interred from  the  most  ancient  of  Carthaginian  tombs, 
and  until  lately  a  peculiar  jargon,  allied  to  Hebrew,  and 
known  as  "  Braik,"  was  spoken  at  Casal  Garbo,  an  in- 
land village  not  far  from  the  bay  off  which  lies  the 
General's  Rock.  But  the  Gozo  folk  nowadays  trade 
neither  in  tin  nor  in  purple,  their  gaily-painted  boats 
crossing  the  Straits  of  Freghi  with  no  more  romantic 
cargoes  than  cabbages  and  cucumbers  for  His  Majesty's 
ships ;  and  the  swarthy  damsels  who  sit  at  the  half-doors 
of  the  white  houses  are  intent  on  nothing  so  much  as 
the  making  of  the  famous  Maltese  lace.  Except,  how- 
ever, in  the  strength,  industry,  and  thrift  of  the  Gozitans, 
there  is  little  in  this  island  to  remind  the  visitor  of  their 
Phoenician  forefathers,  and  in  a  few  years,  owing  to  the 
steady  intercourse  which  daily  steam  communication  has 
brought  about  between  them  and  their  less  sophisticated 
countrymen,  the  "  Giant's  Tower"  (the  ruins  of  a 
temple  of  Astarte)  at  Casal  Xghara  will  be  about  the 
only  remnant  of  these  pre-historic  settlers.  But  Casal 
Nadur,  with  its  robust  men  and  handsome  women,  the 
Tierka  Zerka  or  Azure  Window,  a  natural  arch  on  the 
seashore,  and  Rabato,  the  little  capital  in  the  center  of 
the  island,  which,  in  honor  of  the  Jubilee  year,  changed 
its  name  for  that  of  Victoria,  are  all  worthy  of  a  walk 
farther  afield  than  Migiarro,  or  the  "  carting  place,"  off 
which  the  Valletta  steamer  anchors.  From  the  ruined 
walls  of  the  citadel  the  visitor  can  survey  Gozo  with  its 
conical  hills,  flattened  at  the  top  owing  to  the  wearing 
away  of  the  upper  limestone  by  the  action  of  the  weather 


274  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

and  sinking  of  the  underlying  greensand,  the  whole  re- 
calling a  volcano-dotted  region.  Then,  if  he  cares  to 
tarry  so  long,  the  sightseer  may  from  this  pleasant  center 
tramp  or  drive  to  the  Bay  of  Ramla,  in  a  rock  overhang- 
ing which  is  another  "  Grotto  of  Calypso,"  or  to  the  Bay 
of  Marsa-il-Forno,  or  to  the  Bay  of  Xlendi,  through  a 
well-watered  ravine  rilled  with  fruit-trees,  a  walk  which 
offers  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  best  cliff  scenery  in  the 
island;  or,  finally,  to  the  Gala  Dueira,  hard  by  which  is 
the  General's  Rock,  which  (as  we  already  know)  forms 
one  of  the  chief  lions  of  Gozo.  Comino  with  its  caves 
will  not  detain  the  most  eager  of  sightseers  very  long, 
and  its  scanty  industries,  incapable  of  supporting  more 
than  forty  people,  are  not  calculated  to  arouse  much  en- 
thusiasm. 

The  shortest  route  to  Valletta  from  Migiarro  is  to 
Marfa;  but  most  people  will  prefer  to  land  at  once  at 
Valletta.  Here  the  change  from  the  quiet  islands  to 
the  busy  metropolis  of  the  group  is  marked.  Every- 
thing betokens  the  capital  of  a  dependency  which,  if  not 
itself  wealthy,  is  held  by  a  wealthy  nation,  and  a  fortress 
upon  which  money  has  been  lavished  by  a  succession  of 
military  masters  without  any  regard  to  the  commercial 
aspects  of  the  outlay.  For  if  Malta  has  been  and  must 
always  continue  to  be  a  trading  center,  it  has  for  ages 
never  ceased  to  be  primarily  a  place  of  arms,  a  strong- 
hold to  the  defensive  strength  of  which  every  other  in- 
terest must  give  way.  All  the  public  buildings  are  on  a 
scale  of  substantiality  which,  to  the  voyager  hitherto 
familiar  only  with  Gibraltar,  is  rather  striking.  Even 
the  residences  of  the  officials  are  finer  than  one  would 
expect  in  a  "  colony  "  (though  there  are  no  colonists, 
and  no  room  for  them)  with  a  population  less  than 


VALLETTA  275 

170,000,  and  a  revenue  rarely  exceeding  £250,000  per 
annum.  Dens,  vile  beyond  belief,  there  are  no  doubt  in 
Valletta.  But  these  are  for  the  most  part  in  narrow 
bye-lanes,  which  have  few  attractions  for  the  ordinary 
visitor,  or  in  the  Manderaggio,  a  quasi-subterranean  dis- 
trict, mostly  below  sea-level,  where  the  houses  are  often 
without  windows  and  conveniences  even  more  important ; 
so  that  there  is  an  unconscious  grimness  in  the  prophetic 
humor  which  has  dubbed  this  quarter  of  Valletta  (two- 
and-a-half  acres  in  area,  peopled  by  2,544  persons)  "the 
place  of  cattle."  Yet  though  the  ninety-five  square  miles 
of  the  Maltese  islands  are  about  the  most  densely  popu- 
lated portions  of  the  earth,  the  soil  is  so  fertile  and  the 
sources  of  employment,  especially  since  the  construction 
of  the  Suez  Canal,  so  plentiful,  that  extreme  penury  is 
almost  unknown,  while  the  rural  population  seem  in  the 
happy  mean  of  being  neither  rich  nor  poor. 

But  the  tourist  who  for  the  first  time  surveys  Valletta 
from  the  deck  of  a  steamer  as  she  anchors  in  the  Quaran- 
tine Harbor,  or  still  better  from  the  Grand  Harbor  on  the 
other  side  of  the  peninsula  on  which  the  capital  is  built, 
sees  little  of  this.  Scarcely  is  the  vessel  at  .rest  before 
she  is  surrounded  by  a  swarm  of  the  peculiar  high- 
prowed  "  dghaisas,"  or  Maltese  boats,  the  owners  of 
which,  standing  while  rowing,  are  clamorous  to  pull  the 
passenger  ashore ;  for  Malta,  like  its  sister  fortress  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Mediterranean,  does  not  encourage  wharves 
and  piers,  alongside  of  which  large  craft  may  anchor 
and  troublesome  crews  swarm  when  they  are  not  de- 
sired. Crowds  of  itinerant  dealers,  wily  people  with  all 
the  supple  eagerness  of  the  Oriental,  and  all  the  lack  of 
conscience  which  is  the  convenient  heritage  of  the  trader 
of  the  Middle  Sea,  establish  themselves  on  deck,  ready 


276  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  part  with  the  laces,  and  filigrees,  and  corals,  and 
shells,  and  apocryphal  coins  of  the  Knights  of  St.  John, 
for  any  ransom  not  less  than  twice  their  value.  But  in 
Malta,  as  elsewhere  in  the  Mediterranean  ports,  there 
are  always  two  prices,  the  price  for  which  the  resident 
obtains  anything,  and  the  price  which  the  stranger  is 
asked  to  pay.  To  these  tariffs  a  new  one  has  of  late 
years  been  added,  and  this  is  that  paradisaical  figure, 
that  fond  legend  of  a  golden  age  invoked  only  when  the 
buyer  is  very  eager,  or  very  verdant,  or  very  rich,  "  the 
price  that  Lady  Brassey  paid."  However,  even  when 
the  sojourner  fancies  that  he  has  made  a  fair  bargain 
(and  the  appraisements  fall  suddenly  as  the  last  bell 
begins  to  ring),  the  pedler  is  well  in  pocket,  so  well,  in- 
deed, that  it  has  been  calculated  every  steamer  leaves  be- 
hind it  something  like  two  hundred  pounds  in  cash. 

But  if  the  rubbish  sold  in  Valletta  can  be  bought  quite 
as  good  and  rather  more  cheaply  in  London,  Valletta 
itself  must  be  seen  in  situ.  The  entrance  to  either  of 
the  harbors  enables  one  to  obtain  but  a  slight  idea  of  the 
place.  It  seems  all  forts  and  flat-roofed  buildings  piled 
one  above  the  other  in  unattractive  terraces.  There  are 
guns  everywhere,  and,  right  and  left,  those  strongholds 
which  are  the  final  purposes  of  cannon.  As  the  steamer 
creeps  shrieking  into  "  Port  Marsa-Musciet  "  (the  "  Port  " 
is  superfluous,  since  the  Arabic  "  Marsa  "  means  the  same 
thing)  or  Quarantine  Harbor,  it  passes  Dragut  Point, 
with  Fort  Tigne  on  the  right  and  Fort  St.  Elmo  on  the 
left,  in  addition  to  Fort  Manoel  and  the  Lazaretto  on  an 
island  straight  ahead.  Had  our  destination  been  the 
Grand  Harbor  on  the  other  side  of  Valletta,  Fort  Ricasoli 
and  Fort  St.  Angelo  would  have  been  equally  in  evi- 
dence, built  on  two  of  the  various  projections  whicL  in- 


FORTIFICATIONS  277 

tersect  the  left  side  of  that  haven.  But  the  forts  are,  as 
it  were,  only  the  ganglia  of  the  vast  systems  of  fortifica- 
tions which  circle  every  creek  and  bay  and  headland  of 
Valletta  and  its  offshoots.  Ages  of  toil,  millions  of 
money,  and  the  best  talent  of  three  centuries  of  engineers 
have  been  lavished  on  the  bewildering  mass  of  curtains 
and  horn-works,  and  ravelins  and  demilunes,  and  ditches 
and  palisades,  and  drawbridges  and  bastions,  and  earth- 
works, which  meet  the  eye  in  profusion  enough  to  have 
delighted  the  soul  of  Uncle  Toby.  Sentinels  and  mar- 
tial music  are  the  most  familiar  of  sights  and  sounds, 
and  after  soldiers  and  barracks,  sailors  and  war-ships, 
the  most  frequent  reminders  that  Malta,  like  Gibraltar, 
is  a  great  military  and  naval  station.  But  it  is  also  in 
possession  of  some  civil  rights  unknown  to  the  latter. 
Among  these  is  a  legislature  with  limited  power  and 
boundless  chatter,  and,  what  is  of  more  importance  to 
the  visitor,  the  citizens  can  go  in  and  out  of  Valletta  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  no  raised  drawbridge  or 
stolid  portcullis  barring  their  movements  in  times  of 
peace.  The  stranger  lands  without  being  questioned  as 
to  his  nationality,  and  in  Malta  the  Briton  is  bereft  of  the 
Civis-Romanus-sum  sort  of  feeling  he  imbibes  in  Gi- 
braltar; for  here  the  alien  can  circulate  as  freely  as  the 
lords  of  the  soil.  But  the  man  who  wishes  to  explore 
Valletta  must  be  capable  of  climbing;  for  from  the  land- 
ing place  to  the 'chief  hotel  in  the  main  street  the  ascent 
is  continuous,  and  for  the  first  part  of  the  way  is  by  a 
flight  of  stairs.  Indeed,  these  steps  are  so  often  called 
into  requisition  that  one  can  sympathize  with  the  fare- 
well anathema  of  Bryon  as  he  limped  up  one  of  these 
frequent  obstacles  to  locomotion, 


278  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

"  Adieu !    ye  cursed  streets  of  stairs ! 
(How  surely  he  who  mounts  you  swears)." 

The  reason  of  this  peculiar  construction  is  that  Valletta 
is  built  on  the  ridge  of  Mount  Scebarras,  so  that  the 
ascent  from  the  harbor  to  the  principal  streets  running 
along  the  crest  of  the  hill  is  necessarily  steep.  The  re- 
sult is,  however,  a  more  picturesque  town  than  would 
have  been  the  case  had  the  architect  who  laid  out  the 
town  when  Jean  de  La  Valette,  Grand  Master  of  the 
Knights,  resolved  in  1566  to  transfer  the  capital  here 
from  the  center  of  the  island,  been  able  to  find  funds  to 
form  a  plateau  by  leveling  down  the  summit  of  the 
mound.  Hence  Valletta  is  composed  of  streets  running 
longitudinally  and  others  crossing  the  former  at  right 
angles.  Most  of  these  are  eked  out  by  steps;  one,  the 
Strada  Santa  Lucia,  is  made  up  of  flights  of  them,  and 
none  are  level  from  end  to  end.  The  backbone  of  the 
town  and  the  finest  of  its  highways  is  the  Strada  Reale, 
or  Royal  Street,  which  in  former  days  was  known  as  the 
Strada  San  Georgio,  and  during  the  brief  French  occu- 
pation as  "  the  Street  of  the  Rights  of  Man."  Seven 
main  streets  run  parallel  with  it,  while  eleven  at  right 
angles  extend  in  straight  lines  across  the  promontory 
from  harbor  to  harbor.  The  Strada  Reale,  with  the 
Strada  Mercanti  alongside  of  it  are,  however,  the -most 
typical  bits  of  the  capital,  and  the  visitor  who  con- 
scientiously tramps  through  either,  with  a  peep  here  and 
there  up  or  down  the  less  important  transverse  "  strade," 
obtains  a  fair  idea  of  the  city  of  La  Valette,  whose  statue 
stands  with  that  of  L'Isle  Adam  over  the  Porta  Reale 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  street  bearing  that  name. 
Here  the  first  barrier  to  an  invasion  from  the  landward 


THE  STRADA  REALE  279 

side  is  met  with  in  the  shape  of  a  deep  ditch  hewn  through 
the  solid  rock,  right  across  the  peninsula  from  the  one 
harbor  to  the  other,  cutting  off  if  necessary  the  suburb  of 
Floriana  from  the  town  proper,  though  Floriana,  with 
its  rampart  gardens,  parade  ground,  and  barracks,  is 
again  protected  on  the  inland  aspect  by  other  of  the  great 
fortifications  which  circle  the  seashore  everywhere. 

However,  the  drawbridge  is  down  at  present,  and  a 
long  stream  of  people,  civil  and  military,  are  crossing 
and  recrossing  it,  to  and  from  the  Strada  Reale.  For 
this  street  is  the  chief  artery  through  which  is  ever  circu- 
lating the  placid  current  of  Valletteese  life.  Soldiers  in 
the  varied  uniforms  of  the  regiments  represented  in  the 
garrison  are  marching  backwards  and  forwards,  to  or 
from  parade,  or  to  keep  watch  on  the  ramparts,  or  are 
taking  their  pleasure  afoot,  or  in  the  neat  little  covered 
"  carrozzellas  "  or  cabs  of  the  country,  in  which,  unlike 
those  of  Gibraltar  of  a  similar  build,  a  drive  can  be 
taken  at  the  cost  of  the  coin  which,  according  to  Sydney 
Smith,  was  struck  to  enable  a  certain  thrifty  race  to  be 
generous.  Sailors  from  the  war-ships  in  the  Grand 
Harbor,  and  merchant  seamen  on  a  run  ashore,  are 
utilizing  what  time  they  can  spare  from  the  grog  shops 
in  the  lower  town  to  see  the  sights  of  the  place.  Cab- 
men and  carmen  driving  cars  without  sides,  and  always 
rushing  at  the  topmost  speed  of  their  little  horses,  scatter 
unwary  pedestrians.  Native  women,  with  that  curious 
"  faldetta,"  or  one-sided  hood  to  their  black  cloaks  which 
is  a  characteristic  of  Malta  as  the  mantilla  is  of  Spain, 
pass  side  by  side  with  English  ladies  in  the  latest  of 
London  fashions,  or  sturdy  peasant  women,  returning 
from  market,  get  sadly  in  the  way  of  the  British  nurse- 
maid dividing  her  attention  in  unequal  proportions  be- 


280  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

tween  her  infantile  charges  and  the  guard  marching  for 
"  sentry-go  "  to  the  ramparts.  Flocks  of  goats,  their 
huge  udders  almost  touching  the  ground,  are  strolling 
about  to  be  milked  at  the  doors  of  customers.  Maltese 
laborers,  brown  little  men,  bare-footed,  broad-shouldered, 
and  muscular,  in  the  almost  national  dress  of  a  Glengarry 
cap,  cotton  trousers,  and  flannel  shirt,  with  scarlet  sash, 
coat  over  one  arm,  and  little  earrings,  jostle  the  smart 
officers  making  for  the  Union  Club,  or  the  noisy  "  globe- 
trotter "  just  landed  from  the  steamer  which  came  to 
anchor  an  hour  ago.  A  few  snaky-eyed  Hindoos  in 
gaily  embroidered  caps  invite  you  to  inspect  their  stock 
of  ornamental  wares,  but  except  for  an  Arab  or  two 
from  Tunis,  or  a  few  hulking  Turks  from  Tripoli  with 
pilot  jackets  over  their  barracans,  the  Strada  Reale  of 
Valletta  has  little  of  that  human  picturesqueness  im- 
parted to  the  Water-port  Street  of  Gibraltar  by  the 
motley  swarms  of  Spaniards,  and  Sicilians,  and  negroes, 
and  Moors,  and  English  who  fill  it  at  all  periods  between 
morning  gun-fire  to  the  hour  when  the  stranger  is  ousted 
from  within  the  gates.  Malta  being  a  most  religiously 
Roman  Catholic  country,  priests  and  robe-girded  Car- 
melites are  everywhere  plentiful,  and  all  day  long  the 
worshipers  entering  and  leaving  the  numerous  churches, 
with  the  eternal  "  jingle-jingle  "  of  their  bells,  remind  one 
of  Rabelais's  description  of  England  in  his  day.  At  every 
turning  the  visitor  is  accosted  by  whining  beggars  whose 
pertinacity  is  only  equaled  by  that  of  the  boot-blacks 
and  cabmen,  who  seem  to  fancy  that  the  final  purpose  of 
man  in  Malta  is  to  ride  in  carrozzellas  with  shining 
shoes.  In  Gibraltar  we  find  a  relief  to  the  eye  in  the 
great  rock  towering  overhead,  the  tree-embosomed  cot- 
tages nestling  on  its  slopes,  or  the  occasional  clumps  of 


CHURCH  OF  ST.  JOHN  281 

palms  in  the  hollows.  These  are  wanting  to  the  chief 
strada  of  Valletta.  In  architectural  beauty  the  two 
streets  cannot,  however,  be  compared.  The  Water-port 
is  lined  with  houses,  few  of  which  are  handsome  and 
most  of  which  are  mean,  while  the  scarcity  of  space 
tends  to  crowd  the  narrow  '*  ramps  "  as  thickly  as  any 
lane  in  Valletta.  It  is  seldom  that  the  shops  are  better 
than  those  of  a  petty  English  town,  and  altogether  the 
civil  part  of  the  rock  fortresses  has  not  lost  the  impress 
of  having  been  reared  by  a  people  with  but  little  of  the 
world's  wealth  to  spare,  and  kept  alive  by  a  population 
who  have  not  a  great  deal  to  spend. 

The  main  street  of  Valletta  on  the  other  hand  is  lined 
by  good,  and  in  most  cases  by  handsome,  houses,  fre- 
quently with  little  covered  stone  balconies  which  lend  a 
peculiar  character  to  the  buildings.  The  yellow  lime- 
stone is  also  pleasant  to  look  upon,  while  the  many  palaces 
which  the  comfort-loving  knights  erected  for  their  shelter, 
impart  to  Valletta  the  appearance  of  a  "  a  city  built  by 
gentlemen  for  gentlemen."  Here  on  the  right  is  the 
pretty  Opera  House  (open,  in  common  with  the  private 
theaters,  on  Sunday  and  Saturday  alike),  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road  the  Auberge  of  the  Language  of 
Provence,  now  occupied  by  the  Union  Club.  A  little 
farther  on,  in  an  open  space  shaded  with  trees,  is  the 
Church  of  St.  John,  on  which  the  knights  lavished  their 
riches,  and  still,  notwithstanding  the  pillage  of  the  French 
troops  in  1798,  rich  in  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  crosses, 
pixes,  jewels,  monuments  chivalric  emblazonments, 
paintings,  carven  stone  and  other  ecclesiastical  embellish- 
ments, though  like  the  wealthy  order  of  military  monks, 
whose  pride  it  was,  the  Church  of  St.  John  is  ostenta- 
tiously plain  on  the  outside.  The  Auberge  d'Auvergne, 


282  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

now  the  Courts  of  Justice,  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  and  hard  by,  a  building  which  was  formerly  the 
Treasury  of  the  Knights,  the  storehouse  into  which  was 
gathered  the  contributions  of  the  Commanderies  through- 
out Europe.  The  Public  Library  fronted  by  some  trees 
a  little  way  back  from  the  road  is  interesting  from  its 
containing  the  books  of  the  Bailiff  Louis  de  Tencin,  the 
Grand  Master  de  Rohan  (who  erected  it),  and  of  many 
of  the  more  lettered  knights,  besides  a  good  collection  of 
the  island  antiquities.  Close  to  it  is  the  palace  of  the 
Grand  Master,  now  the  residence  of  the  Governor,  or  in 
part  utilized'  as  Government  offices.  The  courtyards, 
planted  with  oranges,  euphorbias,  hibiscus,  and  other 
greenery,  and  the  walls  covered  with  Bougainvillia,  have 
a  delightfully  cool  appearance  to  the  pedestrian  who 
enters  from  the  hot  street ;  while  the  broad  marble  stair- 
case, the  corridors  lined  with  portraits  and  men-at-arms, 
and  pictures  representing  the  warlike  exploits  of  the 
knightly  galleys,  the  armory  full  of  ancient  weapons,  and 
majolica  vases  from  the  Pharmacy,  and  the  numerous 
relics  of  the  former  rulers  of  the  island,  are  worthy  of  a 
long  study  by  those  interested  in  art  or  antiquity.  The 
Council  Chamber  also  merits  a  visit,  for  there  may  be 
seen  the  priceless  hangings  of  Brussels  tapestry.  And 
last  of  all,  the  idlest  of  tourists  is  not  likely  to  neglect 
the  Hall  of  St.  Michael  and  St.  George,  the  frescoes 
celebrating  the  famous  deeds  of  the  Order  of  St.  John, 
and  the  quaint  clock  in  the  interior  court,  which,  accord- 
ing to  Maltese  legend,  was  brought  from  Rhodes  when 
that  island  was  abandoned  after  a  resistance  only  less 
glorious  than  a  victory.  For,  as  Charles  V.  exclaimed 
when  he  heard  of  the  surrender  which  led  to  Malta  be- 
coming the  home  of  the  knights,  "  there  has  been  nothing 


KNIGHTS   OF   MALTA  283 

in  the  world  so  well  lost  as  Rhodes."  The  main  guard, 
with  its  pompous  Latin  inscription  recording  how 
"Magnse  et  invictse  Britannise  Melitensium  Amor  et 
Europae  vox  Has  insulas  confirmant  AN  MDCCCXIV/'  is 
exactly  opposite  the  palace.  But  when  the  visitor  sees 
the  wealth  of  art  which  the  knights  were  forced  to  leave 
behind  them,  he  is  apt  to  be  puzzled  how  the  Maltese, 
who  contributed  not  one  baiocco  to  buy  it,  or  to  build 
these  palaces  or  fortifications,  could  either  through 
"Amor,"  or  that  necessity  which  knows  no  law,  make 
them  over  us  to  us,  or  how  "Magna  et  invicta  Britannia" 
could  accept  without  compensation  the  property  of  the 
military  monks,  whose  Order,  bereft  of  wealth  and  in- 
fluence, still  exists  and  claims  with  the  acquiescence  of 
at  least  one  court  to  rank  among  the  sovereign  Powrers 
of  Christendom.  The  knights  are,  however,  still  the 
greatest  personalities  in  Malta.  We  come  upon  them, 
their  eight-pointed  cross  and  their  works  at  every  step. 
Their  ghosts  still  walk  the  highways.  The  names  of  the 
Grand  Masters  are  immortalized  in  the  cities  they  founded 
and  in  the  forts  they  reared.  Their  portraits  in  the  rude 
art  of  the  Berlin  lithographer  hang  on  even  the  walls  of 
the  hotels.  Their  ecclesiastical  side  is  in  evidence  by 
the  churches  which  they  reared,  by  the  hagiological 
names  which  they  gave  to  many  of  the  streets,  by  the 
saintly  figures  with  which,  in  spite  of  three-fourths  of  a 
century  of  Protestant  rulers,  still  stand  at  the  corners, 
and  by  the  necessity  which  we  have  only  recently  found 
to  come  to  an  understanding  with  the  Pope  as  to  the 
limits  of  the  canon  law  in  this  most  faithful  portion  of 
his  spiritual  dominions. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  secular  side  of  the  Order  n 
quite  as  prominent.     Here,  for  instance,  after  descend- 


284  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

ing  some  steps  which  serve  as  a  footpath,  we  come  to 
the  Fort  of  St.  Elmo,  which  terminates  the  Strada  Reale. 
But  long  before  there  was  any  regular  town  on  Monte 
Sceberras,  when  the  capital  was  in  the  center  of  the 
island,  this  fortress  on  the  point  midway  between  the  two 
harbors  was  a  place  round  which  the  tide  of  battle  often 
swirled,  when  Paynim  and  Christian  fought  for  the 
mastery  of  the  island.  Of  all  these  sieges  the  greatest 
is  that  of  1565,  a  year  before  the  town  of  Valletta  was 
laid  out.  Twice  previously,  in  1546  and  1551,  the  Turks 
had  endeavored  to  expel  the  knights,  but  failed  to  effect 
a  landing.  But  in  the  year  mentioned  Sultan  Solyman, 
The  Magnificent,  the  same  Solyman  who  thirty-four 
years  before  had  driven  them  from  Rhodes,  determined 
to  make  one  supreme  effort  to  dislodge  the  Order  from 
their  new  home.  The  invading  fleet  consisted  of  a 
hundred  and  thirty-eight  vessels  under  the  Renegade 
Piali,  and  an  army  of  thirty-three  thousand  men  under 
the  orders  of  Mustafa  Pasha.  These  sea  and  land 
forces  were  soon  afterwards  increased  by  the  arrival 
of  two  thousand  five  hundred  resolute  old  Corsairs 
brought  from  Algiers  by  Hassan  Pasha,  and  eighteen 
ships  containing  sixteen  hundred  men  under  the  still 
more  famous  Dragut,  the  Pirate  Chief  of  Tripoli,  who, 
by  the  fortunes  of  war,  was  in  a  few  years  later  fated  to 
toil  as  a  galley-slave  in  this  very  harbor.  The  siege 
lasted  for  nearly  four  months.  Every  foot  of  ground 
was  contested  with  heroic  determination  until  it  was  evi- 
dent that  Fort  St.  Elmo  could  no  longer  hold  out.  Then 
the  knights,  worn  and  wounded,  and  reduced  to  a  mere 
remnant  of  their  number,  received  the  viaticum  in  the 
little  castle  chapel,  and  embracing  each  other  went  forth 
on  the  ramparts  to  meet  whatver  lot  was  in  store  for 


ST.   ELMO  285 

them.  But  St.  Angelo  and  Senglea,  at  the  end  of  the 
peninsula  on  which  Isola  is  now  built,  held  out  until,  on 
the  arrival  of  succor  from  Sicily,  the  Turks  withdrew. 
Of  the  forty  thousand  men  who  on  the  :8th  of  May  had 
sat  down  before  the  Castle,  not  ten  thousand  re-em- 
barked ;  whilst  of  the  eight  or  nine  thousand  defenders, 
barely  six  hundred  were  able  to  join  in  the  Te  Deum  of 
thanks  for  the  successful  termination  of  what  was  one 
of  the  greatest  struggles  in  ancient  or  modern  times. 
Then  it  was  that  "  the  most  illustrous  and  most  Reverend 
Lord,  Brother  John  de  la  Valette,"  to  quote  his  titles  in- 
scribed over  the  Porta  Reale,  determined  to  lay  out  the 
new  city,  so  that,  before  twelve  months  passed,  the 
primeval  prophecy  that  there  would  be  a  time  when 
every  foot  of  land  in  Monte  Sceberras  would  be  worth 
an  ounce  of  silver  bade  fair  to  come  true.  St.  Elmo  is 
still  the  chief  of  the  island  fortresses,  and  the  little  chapel 
which  the  knights  left  to  fall  under  the  Turkish  scimitars 
is  again  in  good  preservation,  after  having  been  long  for- 
gotten under  a  pile  of  rubbish.  But  though  churchmen 
and  soldiers,  the  masters  of  Malta  were,  if  all  tales  are 
true,  a  good  deal  more  militaires  than  monks.  Eye-wit- 
nesses describe  the  knights  as  they  sailed  on  a  warlike 
expedition  waving  their  hands  to  fair  ladies  on  the  shore. 
In  their  albergos  or  barracks  the  "  Languages  "  lived 
luxuriously,  and  though  dueling  was  strictly  prohibited, 
there  is  a  narrow  street,  ( the  Strada  Stretta,  running 
parallel  with  the  Reale,  in  which  this  extremely  un- 
ecclesiastical  mode  of  settling  disputes  was  winked  at. 
For  by  a  pleasant  fiction,  any  encounter  within  its  limits 
was  regarded  as  simply  a  casual  difficulty  occasioned  by 
two  fiery  gentlemen  accidentally  jostling  each  other ! 
Turning  into  the  Strada  Mercanti,  the  San  Giacomio 


286  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

of  a  former  nomenclature,  we  come  upon  more  reminders 
of  this  picturesque  brotherhood.  For  close  by  the  Hos- 
pital for  Incurables  is  the  site  of  their  cemetery,  and 
farther  up  the  steep  street  is  the  Military  Hospital,  which 
was  founded  by  the  Grand  Master,  Fra  Luis  de  Vas- 
congelos.  This  infirmary,  as  an  old  writer  tells  us,  was 
in  former  days  "  the  very  glory  of  Malta."  Every  pa- 
tient had  two  beds  for  change,  and  a  closet  with  lock  and 
key  to  himself.  No  more  than  two  people  were  put  in 
one  ward,  and  these  were  waited  upon  by  the  "  Serving 
Brothers,"  their  food  being  brought  to  them  on  silver 
dishes,  and  everything  else  ordered  with  corresponding 
magnificence.  Nowadays,  though  scarcely  so  sumptuous, 
the  hospital  is  still  a  noble  institution,  one  of  the  rooms, 
four  hundred  and  eighty  feet  in  length,  being  accounted 
the  longest  in  Europe.  But  there  are  no  silver  dishes, 
and  the  nurses  have  ceased  to  be  of  knightly  rank.  The 
University,  an  institution  which  turns  out  doctors  with  a 
celerity  which  accounts  for  the  number  of  them  in  the 
island,  is  an  even  less  imposing  building  than  the  public 
pawnbroking  establishment  hard  by,  and  neither  is  so 
noteworthy  as  the  market,  which  is  remarkable  from  a 
literary  point  of  view  as  being  perhaps  the  only  edifice 
in  Valletta  the  founder  of  which  has  been  content  to  in- 
scribe his  merits  in  the  vulgar  tongue.  On  the  top  of 
the  hill,  for  we  have  been  climbing  all  the  time,  is  a  house 
with  a  fine  marble  doorway,  which  also  is  the  relic  of 
the  knights.  For  this  building  was  the  Castellania,  or 
prison,  and  the  pillory  in  which  prisoners  did  penance, 
and  the  little  window  from  above  which  prisoners  were 
suspended  by  the  hands,  are  still,  with  the  huge  hook  to 
which  the  rope  was  attached,  to  be  seen  by  those  who 
are  curious  in  such  disciplinary  matters.  But  like  the 


THE  CASTELLANIA  287 

rock-hewn  dungeons  in  which  the  knights  kept  their  two 
thousand  galley-slaves,  in  most  cases  Turks  and  Moors 
who  had  fallen  in  the  way  of  their  war-ships,  which  still 
exist  in  the  rear  of  the  Dockyard  Terrace,  such  reminders 
of  a  cruel  age  and  a  stern  Order  are  depressing  to  the 
wanderer  in  search  of  the  picturesque.  He  prefers  to 
look  at  the  Auberge  of  the  Language  of  Italy,  where 
the  Royal  Engineers  have  their  quarters,  or  at  the  Palazzo 
Parisi,  opposite  (it  is  a  livery  stable  at  present),  where 
General  Bonaparte  resided  during  that  brief  stay  in 
Malta  which  has  served  ever  since  to  make  the  French 
name  abhorred  in  the  island,  or  at  the  Auberge  de 
Castille,  the  noblest  of  all  the  knights'  palaces,  where  the 
two  scientific  corps  hold  their  hospitable  mess. 

We  have  now  tramped  the  entire  length  of  the  two 
chief  longitudinal  streets  of  Malta,  and  have  seen  most 
of  the  buildings  of  much  general  interest.  But  in  the 
Strade  Mezzodi  and  Britannica  there  are  many  private 
dwellings  of  the  best  description,  and  even  some  public 
ones,  like  the  Auberge  de  France  (devoted  to  the  head  of 
the  Commissariat  Department),  warrant  examination 
from  a  historical  if  not  from  an  architectural,  point  of 
view.  All  of  these  knightly  hotels  are  worthy  of  notice. 
Most  of  them  are  now  appropriated  to  the  needs  of  Gov- 
ernment offices  or,  like  the  Auberge  d'Arragon  (an 
Episcopal  residence),  to  the  housing  of  local  dignitaries. 
But  where  the  Auberge  d'Allemagne  once  stood  the  col- 
legiate church  of  St.  Paul  has  been  built,  and  if  there 
ever  was  an  Auberge  d'Angleterre  (for  the  language  of 
England  was  suppressed  when  Henry  VIII.  confiscated 
the  English  Commanderies  and  was  early  succeeded  by 
that  of  Bavaria),  the  building  which  bore  her  name  was 
leveled  when  the  new  theater  was  built.  It  is  neverthe- 


288  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

less  certain  that  the  Turcopolier  or  General  of  the  Horse 
was,  until  the  Reformation,  selected  from  the  Language 
of  England,  just  as  that  of  Provence  always  furnished 
the  Grand  Commander,  France  the  Grand  Hospitaller, 
Ita'y  the  Admiral,  Arragon  the  Drapier,  Auvergne  the 
Commander,  Germany  the  Grand  Bailiff,  and  Castile  the 
Grand  Chancellor  of  the  Sovereign  Order,  whose  Grand 
Master  held  among  other  titles  those  of  Prince  of  Malta 
and  Gozo. 

We  are  now  at  the  Upper  Barracca,  one  of  those  ar- 
cades erected  as  promenades  by  the  knights,  and  still  the 
favorite  walk  of  the  citizens  in  the  cool  of  morning  and 
evening.  From  this  point  also  is  obtained  a  good  bird's- 
eye  view  of  Valletta  and  much  of  the  neighboring  coun- 
try, and  if  the  visitor  continues  his  walk  to  St.  Andrew's 
Bastion  he  may  witness  a  panorama  of  both  harbors ;  one, 
which  the  Maltese  affirm  (and  we  are  not  called  upon  to 
contradict  them),  is  surpassed  by  the  Bosphorus  alone. 
It  is  at  all  events  the  most  picturesque  of  the  island 
views.  There  at  a  glance  may  be  seen  the  two  chief 
harbors  alive  with  boats,  sailing  vessels,  and  steamers, 
from  the  huge  ironclad  to  the  noisy  little  launch.  We 
then  see  that  beside  the  main  peninsula  upon  which  Val- 
letta is  built,  and  which  divides  the  Quarantine  from  the 
Grand  Harbor,  there  are  several  other  headlands  pro- 
jecting into  these  ports  in  addition  to  the  island  occupied 
by  Fort  Manoel  and  the  Lazaretto.  These  narrow  penin- 
sulas cut  the  havens  into  a  host  of  subsidiary  basins, 
bays,  and  creeks,  while  Valletta  itself  has  overflowed  into 
the  suburbs  of  Floriana,  Sliema,  and  St.  Julian,  and  may 
by-and-by  occupy  Tasbiesch  and  Pieta ;  Bighi,  where  the 
Naval  Hospital  is  situated,  and  Corradino,  associated 
with  gay  memories  of  the  racecourse,  and  the  more  som- 


CITTA  VITTORIOSA  289 

bre  ones  which  pertain  to  the  cemeteries  and  the  prisons, 
all  of  which  are  centered  in  this  quarter,  where  in  former 
days  the  knights  had  their  horse-breeding  establishments 
and  their  game  preserves. 

But  there  are  certain  suburbs  of  Valletta  which  no 
good  Maltese  will  describe  by  so  humble  a  name.  These 
are  the  "  Three  Cities  "  of  Vittoriosa  and  Senglea,  built 
on  the  two  peninsulas  projecting  into  the  Grand  Harbor, 
and  separated  by  the  Dockyard  Creek,  and  Burmola  or 
Cosspicua,  stretching  back  from  the  shore.  These  three 
"  cities  "  are  protected  by  the  huge  Firenzuola  and  Cot- 
tonera  lines  of  fortifications,  and  as  Fort  Angelo,  the 
most  ancient  of  the  Maltese  strongholds,  and  Fort  Ri- 
casoli,  recalling  the  name  of  its  builder,  are  among  their 
castles,  they  hold  their  heads  very  high  in  Malta.  In- 
deed, long  before  Valletta  was  thought  of,  and  when 
Notabile  was  seen  to  be  unfitted  for  their  purpose,  the 
knights  took  up  their  residence  in  Borgo  or  the  Burgh, 
which,  as  the  Statue  of  Victory  still  standing  announces, 
was  dignified  by  the  name  of  Citta  Vittoriosa  after  their 
victory  over  the  Turks.  Strada  Antico  Palazzo  del  Gov- 
ernatore  recalls  the  old  Palace  which  once  stood  in  this 
street,  and  indeed  until  1571  this  now  poor  town  was  the 
seat  of  Government.  Antique  buildings,  like  the  Nun- 
nery of  Santa  Scolastica,  once  a  hospital,  and  the  In- 
quisitor's Palace,  now  the  quarters  of  the  English  garri- 
son, are  witnesses  to  its  fatten  dignity.  Burmola  is  also 
a  city  of  old  churches,  and  Senglea  named  after  the 
Grand  Master  De  la  Sengle,  though  at  present  a  place 
of  little  consequence,  contains  plenty  of  architectural 
proofs  that  when  its  old  name  of  "  Chersoneso,"  or  the 
Peninsula,  was  changed  to  Isola,  or  "  The  Unconquered," 
this  "  city,"  with  Fort  Michael  to  do  its  fighting,  played 


2QO  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

in  Malta  militant  a  part  almost  as  important  as  it  does 
nowadays  when  its  dockyard  and  arsenal  are  its  chief 
titles  to  fame. 

Turning  our  survey  inland,  we  see  from  the  Barracca 
a  rolling  country,  whitish,  dry,  and  uninviting,  dotted 
with  white  rocks  projecting  above  the  surface;  white 
little  villages,  each  with  its  church  and  walled  fields;  and 
topping  all,  on  the  summit  of  a  rising  ground,  a  town 
over  which  rise  the  spires  of  a  cathedral.  This  is  Citta 
Vecchia,  the  "  old  city  "  as  it  was  called  when  the  capital 
was  transferred  to  Valletta,  though  the  people  round 
about  still  call  it  by  the  Saracenic  name  of  "  Medina," 
(the  town),  the  more  modern  designation  of  "  Notabile  " 
being  due  to  a  complimentary  remark  of  Alfonso  the 
Magnanimous,  King  of  Castile.  No  town  in  Malta  is 
more  ancient.  Here,  we  know  from  the  famous  oration 
of  Cicero,  that  Verres,  Praetor  of  Sicily,  established  some 
manufactories  for  cotton  goods,  out  of  which  were  made 
women's  dresses  of  extraordinary  magnificence,  and  here 
also  the  same  voluptuous  ruler  did  a  reprehensible  amount 
of  plundering  from  temples  and  the  "  abodes  of  wealthy 
and  honorable  citizens."  In  their  time-honored  'Capital 
the  Grand  Masters  had  to  be  inaugurated,  and  in  its 
cathedral  every  Bishop  of  Malta  must  still  be  consecrated. 
But  the  glory  of  Notabile  is  its  memories,  for  in  all 
Christendom  there  is  no  more  silent  city  than  the  one 
towards  which  we  creep  by  means  of  the  island  railway 
which  has  of  late  years  shortened  the  eight  miles  between 
it  and  Valletta.  Every  rood,  after  leaving  the  cave-like 
station  hollowed  out  of  the  soft  solid  rock,  and  the  tun- 
nels under  the  fortifications,  seems  sleepier  and  sleepier. 
Every  few  minutes  we  halt  at  a  white-washed  shed  hard 
by  a  white-washed  "  casal."  And  all  the  "  casals  "  seem 


NOTABILE  291 

duplicates  of  each  other.  The  white  streets  of  these 
villages  are  narrow,  and  the  people  few.  But  the  church 
is  invariably  disproportionately  large,  well  built,  and  rich 
in  decorations,  while  the  shops  in  the  little  square  are 
much  poorer  than  people  who  support  so  fine  a  church 
ought  to  patronize.  There  is  Hamrun,  with  its  Apostolic 
Institute  directed  by  Algerian  missionaries,  Misada  in 
the  valley,  and  Birchircara.  Casal  Curmi,  where  the 
cattle  market  is  held,  is  seen  in  the  distance,  and  at  Lia 
and  Balzan  we  are  among  the  orange  and  lemon  gardens 
for  which  these  villages  are  famous.  The  San  Antonio 
Palace,  with  its  pleasant  grounds,  forms  a  relief  to  the 
eye.  At  Attard,  "  the  village  of  roses,"  the  aqueduct 
which  supplies  Valletta  with  the  water  of  Diar  Handur 
comes  in  sight,  and  then,  at  San  Salvador,  the  train  be- 
gins the  steep  pull  which  ends  at  the  base  of  the  hill  on 
which  Notabile  is  built. 

On  this  slope  are  little  terraced  fields  and  remains  of 
what  must  at  one  time  have  been  formidable  fortifications. 
But  all  is  crumbling  now.  A  few  of  the  Valletta  mer- 
chants are  taking  advantage  of  the  railway  by  building 
country  houses,  and  some  of  the  old  Maltese  nobility 
cling  to  the  town  associated  with  their  quondam  glory. 
But  its  decaying  mansions  with  their  mouldering  coats  of 
arms,  palaces  appropriated  to  prosaic  purposes,  ramparts 
from  which  for  ages  the  clash  of  arms  has  departed,  and 
streets  silent  except  for  the  tread  of  the  British  soldiers 
stationed  there  or  the  mumble  of  the  professional  beggar, 
tell  a  tale  of  long-departed  greatness.  A  statue  of  Juno 
is  embedded  in  the  gateway,  and  in  the  shed-like  museum 
have  been  collected  a  host  of  Phoenician,  Roman,  and 
other  remains  dug  out  of  the  soil  of  the  city.  Maltese 
"boys  pester  us  to  buy  copper  coins  of  the  knights  which 


292  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

are  possibly  honest,  and  their  parents  produce  silver  ones 
which  are  probably  apocryphal. 

In  Notabile  itself  there  is  not,  however,  a  great  deal 
to  look  at,  though  from  the  summit  of  the  Sanatorium, 
of  old  the  Courts  of  Justice  (and  there  are  dreadful  dun- 
geons underneath  it  still),  a  glance  may  be  obtained  over 
the  entire  island.  To  the  prosaic  eye  it  looks  rather  dry 
to  be  the  "  Fior  del  Mondo,"  the  flower  of  the  world,  as 
the  patriotic  Maltese  terms  the  land  which  he  leaves  with 
regret  and  returns  to  with  joy.  There  to  the  south  lies 
Verdala  Palace,  and  the  Boschetto,  a  grove  in  much  re- 
quest for  picnic  parties  from  Valletta,  and  beyond  both, 
the  Inquisitor's  summer  palace,  close  to  where  the  sea 
spray  is  seen  flying  against  the  rugged  cliffs.  The  Bin- 
gemma  hills,  thick  with  Phoenician  tombs,  are  seen  to 
the  west,  and  if  the  pedestrian  cares  he  may  visit  the  old 
rock  fortress  of  Kala  ta  Bahria,  Imtarfa,  where  stood 
the  temple  of  Proserpine,  and  Imtahleb  near  the  sea- 
shore, where  in  the  season  wild  strawberries  abound. 
Musta,  with  its  huge  domed  church,  is  prominent  enough 
to  the  northeast,  while  with  a  glass  it  is  not  difficult  to 
make  out  Zebbar  and  Zeitun,  Zurrico,  Paola,  and  other 
villages  of  the  southeastern  coast  scattered  through  a 
region  where  remains  of  the  past  are  very  plentiful.  For 
here  are  the  ruins  of  the  temples  of  Hagiar  Khim  and 
Mnaidra,  rude  prehistoric  monuments,  and  on  the  shore 
of  the  Marsa  Scirocco  (a  bay  into  which  the  hot  wind  of 
Africa  blows  direct),  is  a  megalithic  wall  believed  to  be 
the  last  of  the  temple  of  Melkarte,  the  Tyrian  Hercules. 
But  in  Notabile,  far  before  Apollo  and  Proserpine, 
whose  marble  temples  stood  here,  before  even  the  knights, 
whose  three  centuries  of  iron  rule  have  a  singular  fascina- 
tion for  the  Maltese,  there  is  a  name  very  often  in  many 


SAINT  PAUL  293 

mouths.  And  that  is  "  San  Paolo."  Saint  Paul  is  in 
truth  the  great  man  of  Malta,  and  the  people  make  very 
much  of  him.  He  is  almost  as  popular  a  personage  as  Sir 
Thomas  Maitland,  the  autocratic  "  King  Tom,"  of  whose 
benevolent  despotism  and  doughty  deeds  also  one  is  apt 
in  time  to  get  a  little  tired.  Churches  and  streets  and 
cathedrals  are  dedicated  to  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles, 
and  from  the  summit  of  the  Sanatorium  a  barefooted 
Maltese  points  out  "  the  certain  creek  with  a  shore  "  in 
which  he  was  wrecked,  the  island  of  Salmun,  on  which 
there  is  a  statue  of  him,  and  the  church  erected  in  his 
honor.  It  is  idle  to  hint  to  this  pious  son  of  Citta  Vec- 
chia  that  it  is  doubtful  whether  Paul  was  ever  wrecked 
in  Malta  at  all,  that  not  unlikely  the  scene  of  that  notable 
event  was  Melita,  in  the  Gulf  of  Ragusa.  Are  there  not 
^hard  by  serpents  turned  into  stone,  if  no  living  serpents 
to  bite  anybody,  and  a  miraculous  fountain  which  bursts 
forth  at  the  Apostle's  bidding  ?  And  is  not  "  the  tem- 
pestuous wind  called  Euroklydon  "  blowing  at  this  very 
moment?  And  in  the  cathedral  we  learn  for  the  first 
time  that  Publius,  on  the  site  of  whose  house  it  is  built, 
became  the  first  bishop  of  Malta.  For  is  not  his  martyr- 
dom sculptured  in  marble,  and  painted  on  canvas?  And 
by-and-by  we  see  the  grotto  in  which  St.  Paul  did  three 
months'  penance,  though  the  reason  is  not  explained,  and 
over  it  the  chapel  raised  to  the  memory  of  the  converted 
Roman  Governor,  and  not  far  away  the  Catacombs  in 
which  the  early  Christians  sheltered  themselves,  though 
whether  there  is  an  underground  passage  from  there  'to 
Valletta,  as  historians  affirm,  is  a  point  in  which  our  bare- 
footed commentator  is  not  agreed. 

All  these  are  to  him  irreverent  doubts.     Notabile,  with 
its  cathedral,  and  convents,  and  monasteries,  its  church 


294  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

of  St.  Publius,  the  "  stone  of  which  never  grows  less," 
the  seminary  for  priests,  the  Bishop's  Palace  and  the 
Bishop's  Hospital,  is  no  place  for  scepticism  touching 
Saint  Paul  and  his  voyages.  Any  such  unbeliefs  we  had 
better  carry  elsewhere.  The  day  is  hot  and  the  old  city 
is  somnolent,  and  the  talk  is  of  the  past.  At  the  wicket 
gate  of  the  little  station  at  the  hill  foot  the  engine  is, 
at  least,  of  the  present.  And  as  we  slowly  steam  into 
Valletta,  and  emerge  into  the  busy  street,  we  seem  to 
have  leapt  in  an  hour  from  the  Middle  Ages  into  the 
Twentieth  Century.  The  band  is  playing  in  the  Palace 
Square,  and  the  politicians  are  in  procession  over  some 
event  with  which  we  as  seekers  after  the  picturesque  are 
not  concerned.  But  in  Valletta  we  are  in  the  land  of 
living  men.  Behind  us  is  a  city  of  the  dead,  and  around 
it  lie  villages  which  seem  never  to  have  been  alive. 


XIII 
SICILY 

Scylla  and  Charybdis — Messina,  the  chief  commercial  center  of 
Sicily— The  magnificent  ruins  of  the  Greek  Theater  at  Taor- 
mina— Omnipresence  of  Mt.  Etna — Approach  to  Syracuse — 
The  famous  Latomia  del  Paradiso— Girgenti,  the  City  of 
Temples— Railway  route  to  Palermo— Mosaics— Cathedral  and 
Abbey  of  Monreale— Monte  Pellegrino  at  the  hour  of  sunset. 

TO  the  traveller  who  proposes  to  enter  Sicily  by  the 
favorite  sea-route  from  Naples  to  Messina  the 
•approach  to  the  island  presents  a  scene  of  sin- 
gular interest  and  beauty.  A  night's  voyage  from  the 
sunny  bay  which  sleeps  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius  suffices 
to  bring  him  almost  within  the  shadow  of  Etna.  By  day- 
break he  has  just  passed  the  Punta  del  Faro,  the  light- 
housed  promontory  at  the  extreme  northeastern  angle  of 
this  three-cornered  isle,  the  Trinacria  of  the  ancients, 
and  is  steaming  into  the  Straits.  Far  to  his  left  he  can 
see,  with  the  eye  of  faith  at  any  rate,  the  rock  of  Scylla 
jutting  out  from  the  Calabrian  coast,  while  the  whirl- 
pool of  Charybdis,  he  will  do  well  to  believe,  is  eddying 
and  foaming  at  the  foot  of  the  Pharos  a  few  hundred 
yards  to  his  right.  Here  let  him  resolutely  locate  the 
fabled  monster  of  the  gaping  jaws  into  which  were  swept 
those  luckless  mariners  of  old  whose  dread  of  Scylla 
drove  them  too  near  to  the  Sicilian  shore.  Modern 
geographers  may  maintain  (as  what  will  they  not  main- 

295 


296  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

tain?)  that  Charybdis  should  be  identified  with  the  Garo- 
falo,  the  current  which  sweeps  round  the  breakwater  of 
Messina  seven  miles  to  the  south ;  but  Circe  distinctly 
told  Ulysses  that  the  two  monsters  were  not  a  "  bowshot 
apart  " ;  and  the  perfectly  clear  and  straightforward  ac- 
count given  of  the  matter  by  ^Eneas  to  Dido  renders  it 
impossible  to  doubt  that  Scylla  and  Charybdis  faced  each 
other  at  the  mouth  of  the  Straits.  The  traveller  will  be 
amply  justified  in  believing  that  he  has  successfully  nego- 
tiated the  passage  between  these  two  terrors  as  soon  as 
he  has  left  the  Pharos  behind  him  and  is  speeding  along 
the  eastern  coast  of  the  island  towards  the  city  of 
Messina. 

Very  bold  and  impressive  grows  the  island  scenery 
under  the  gradually  broadening  daylight.  Tier  on  tier 
above  him  rise  the  bare,  brown  hill-slopes,  spurs  of  the 
great  mountain  pyramid  which  he  is  approaching.  These 
tumbled  masses  of  the  mountains,  deepening  here  where 
the  night  shadow  still  lingers  into  downright  black,  and 
reddening  there  where  they  "  take  the  morning  "  to  the 
color  of  rusty  iron,  proclaim  their  volcanic  character,  to 
all  who  are  familiar  with  the  signs  thereof,  unmistakably 
enough.  Just  such  a  ferruginous  face  does  Nature  turn 
towards  you  as  you  drop  down  at  twilight  past  the  Isleta 
of  Las  Palmas,  in  Gran  Canaria,  or  work  your  way  from 
the  eastern  to  the  western  coast  of  Teneriffe,  round  the 
spreading  skirts  of  the  Peak.  Rock  scenery  of  another 
character  is  visible  on  the  left,  among  the  Calabrian 
mountains,  dwarfed  somewhat  by  the  nearer  as  well  as 
loftier  heights  of  the  island  opposite,  but  bearing  no 
mean  part  in  the  composition  of  the  land-  and  sea-scape, 
nevertheless.  Mile  after  mile  the  view  maintains  its 
rugged  beauty,  and  when  at  last  the  town  and  harbor 


MESSINA  297 

of  Messina  rise  in  sight,  and  the  fort  of  Castellaccio  be- 
gins to  fill  the  eye,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  natural  ram- 
parts of  the  hills,  the  traveller  will  be  fain  to  admit  that 
few  islands  in  the  world  are  approached  through  scenery 
so  romantic  and  so  well  attuned  to  its  historic  associations. 

There  are  those  who  find  Messina  disappointing,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  to  quit  the  waters  of  a  rock-em- 
bosomed strait  for  the  harbor  of  a  large  commercial  sea- 
port possessing  no  special  claim  to  beauty  of  situation,  is 
to  experience  a  certain  effect  of  disenchantment.  It 
would  not  be  fair,  however,  to  hold  the  town,  as  a  town, 
responsible  for  this.  It  is  only  some  such  jewel  as  Naples 
or  as  Algiers  that  could  vie  with  such  a  setting.  Messina 
is  not  an  Algiers  or  a  Naples;  it  is  only  an  honest,  an- 
cient, prosperous,  active,  fairly  clean,  and  architecturally 
unimpressive  town.  The  chief  commercial  center  of 
Sicily,  with  upwards  of  eighty  thousand  inhabitants,  a 
Cathedral,  an  Archbishop,  and  a  University,  it  can  afford, 
its  inhabitants  perhaps  believe,  to  dispense  with  aesthetic 
attractions.  But  its  spacious  quays,  its  fine  and  curiously 
shaped  port,  the  Harbor  of  the  Sickle  as  it  was  called  by 
the  ancients  when  after  it  they  named  the  city  "  Zancle," 
have  an  interest  of  their  own  if  they  are  without  much 
claim  to  the  picturesque;  and  the  view  from  the  Faro 
Grande  on  the  curve  of  the  Sickle,  with  the  Sicilian 
mountains  behind,  the  Calabrian  rocks  in  front,  and  the 
Straits  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  spectator,  is  not  to  be 
despised. 

Still,  Messina  is  not  likely  to  detain  any  pleasure- 
tourist  long,  especially  with  Taormina,  the  gem  of  the 
island,  and  one  might  almost  say,  indeed,  of  all  Italy, 
awaiting  him  at  only  the  distance  of  a  railway  journey 
of  some  sixty  to  a  hundred  miles.  The  line  from  Messina 


298  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

to  Giardini,  the  station  for  Taormina,  and  the  spot 
whence  Garibaldi  crossed  to  Calabria  in  the  autumn  of 
1860,  skirts  the  sea-coast,  burrowing  under  headlands 
and  spanning  dry  river-beds  for  a  distance  of  thirty 
miles,  amid  the  scenery  which  has  been  already  viewed 
from  the  Straits,  but  which  loses  now  from  its  too  close 
neighborhood  to  the  eye.  The  rock-built  town  of  ancient 
Taormina  is  perched  upon  a  steep  and  craggy  bluff  some 
four  hundred  feet  above  the  railway  line,  and  is  ap- 
proached by  an  extremely  circuitous  road  of  about  three 
miles  in  length.  Short  cuts  there  are  for  the  youthful, 
the  impetuous,  and  the  sound  in  wind ;  but  even  these 
fortunate  persons  might  do  worse  than  save  their  breath 
and  restrain  their  impatience  to  reach  their  destination, 
if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  varying  panorama  which  un- 
folds itself  as  they  ascend  from  level  to  level  on  their 
winding  way.  There  can  be  no  denying  that  Taormina 
stands  nobly  and  confronts  the  Straits  with  a  simple 
dignity  that  many  greater  and  even  higher  cities  might 
well  envy.  To  see  it  from  a  favoring  angle  of  the  battle- 
mented  road,  with  the  southern  sunlight  bathing  its  bright 
white  walls  and  broken  lines  of  housetops,  with  the  tower 
of  Sant'  Agostino  traced  against  the  cone  of  Etna,  and 
the  'wall  that  skirts  it  almost  trembling  on  the  utmost 
verge  of  the  cliff,  while  at  the  foot  of  the  declivity  the 
Straits  trend  southward  in  "  tender,  curving  lines  of 
creamy  spray,"  to  see  this  is  at  least  to  -admit  that  some 
short  cuts  are  not  worth  taking,  and  that  the  bridle-path 
up  the  hillside  might  well  be  left  to  those  animals  for 
whose  use  it  was  constructed,  and  who  are  generally  be- 
lieved to  prefer  an  abridgment  of  their  journey  to  any 
conceivable  enhancement  of  its  picturesque  attractions. 
At  Taormina  one  may  linger  long.  The  pure,  inspirit- 


TAORMINA  299 

ing  air  of  its  lofty  plateau,  and  the  unequaled  beauty  of 
the  prospect  which  it  commands,  would  alone  be  suffi- 
cient to  stay  the  hurried  footsteps  of  even  the  most  time- 
pressed  of  "  globe-trotters  " ;  but  those  who  combine  a 
love  of  scenery  with  a  taste  for  archaeology  and  the  classi- 
cal antique  will  find  it  indeed  a  difficult  place  to  leave. 
For,  a  little  way  above  the  town,  and  in  the  center  of  an 
exquisite  landscape  stand  the  magnificent  ruins  of  the 
Greek  Theater,  its  auditorium,  it  is  true,  almost  leveled 
with  the  plain,  but  more  perfect  as  to  the  remains  of  its 
stage  and  proscenium  than  any  other  in  Sicily,  and,  with 
one  exception,  in  the  world.  But  there  is  no  need  to  be 
a  scholar  or  an  antiquarian  to  feel  the  extraordinary  fas- 
cination of  the  spot.  Nowhere  among  .all  the  relics  of 
bygone  civilizations  have  Time  and  Nature  dealt  more 
piously  with  the  work  of  man.  Every  spring  and  sum- 
mer that  have  passed  over  those  mouldering  columns  and 
shattered  arches  have  left  behind  them  their  tribute  of 
clasping  creeper  and  clambering  wild  flower  and  softly 
draping  moss.  Boulder  and  plinth  in  common,  the 
masonry  alike  of  Nature  and  of  man,  have  mellowed  into 
the  same  exquisite  harmony  of  greys  and  greens ;  and 
the  eye  seeks  in  vain  to  distinguish  between  the  handi- 
work of  the  Great  Mother  and  those  monuments  of  her 
long-dead  children  which  she  has  clothed  with  an  im- 
mortality of  her  own. 

Apart,  however,  from  the  indescribable  charm  of  its 
immediate  surroundings,  the  plateau  of  the  theater  must 
fix  itself  in  the  memory  of  all  who  have  entered  Sicily 
by  way  of  Messina  as  having  afforded  them  their  first 
"  clear  "  view  of  Etna,  their  first  opportunity,  that  is  to 
say,  of  looking  at  the  majestic  mountain  unintercepted  at 
any  point  of  its  outline  or  mass  by  objects  on  a  lower 


300  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

level.  The  whole  panorama  indeed  from  this  point  is 
magnificent.  To  the  left,  in  the  foreground,  rise  the 
heights  of  Castiglione  from  the  valley  of  the  Alcantara; 
while,  as  the  eye  moves  round  the  prospect  from  left  to 
right,  it  lights  in  succession  on  the  hermitage  of  S.  Maria 
della  Rocca,  the  Castle  of  Tacrmina,  the  overhanding  hill 
of  Mola,  and  Monte  Venere  towering  above  it.  But, 
dominating  the  whole  landscape,  and  irresistibly  recall- 
ing to  itself  the  gaze  which  wanders  for  a  moment  to  the 
nearer  chain  of  mountains  or  the  blue  Calabrian  hills 
across  the  Strait,  arises  the  never-to-be-forgotten  pyra- 
mid of  Etna,  a  mountain  unrivaled  in  its  combination  of 
majesty  and  grace,  in  the  soft  symmetry  of  its  "  line," 
and  the  stern  contrast  between  its  lava-scarred  sides,  with 
their  associations  of  throe  and  torture,  and  the  eternal 
peace  of  its  snow-crowned  head.  It  will  be  seen  at  a 
closer  view  from  Catania,  and,  best  of  all,  on  the  journey 
from  that  place  to  Syracuse;  but  the  first  good  sight  of 
it  from  Taormina,  at  any  rate  when  weather  and  season 
have  been  favorable,  is  pretty  sure  to  become  an  abiding 
memory. 

Twenty  miles  farther  southwards  along  the  coast  lie 
the  town  and  baths  of  Aci  Reale,  a  pleasant  resort  'in  the 
"  cure  "  season,  but  to  others  than  invalids  more  interest- 
ing in  its  associations  with  Theocritus  and  Ovid,  with 
"  Homer  the  Handel  of  Epos,  and  Handel  the  Homer  of 
song ;  "  in  a  word,  with  Acis  and  Galatea,  and  Polyphe- 
mus, and  the  much-enduring  Ulysses.  Aci  Castello,  a 
couple  of  miles  or  so  down  the  coast,  is,  to  be  precise,  the 
exact  spot  which  is  associated  with  these  very  old-world 
histories,  though  Polyphemus's  sheep-run  probably  ex- 
tended far  along  the  coast  in  both  directions,  and  the 
legend  of  the  giant's  defeat  and  discomfiture  by  the  hero 


CATANIA  301 

of  the  Odyssey  is  preserved  in  the  nomenclature  of  the 
rocky  chain  which  juts  out  at  this  point  from  the  Sicilian 
shore.  The  Scogli  dei  Ciclopi  are  a  fine  group  of  basaltic 
rocks,  the  biggest  of  them  some  two  hundred  feet  in 
height  and  two  thousand  feet  in  circumference,  no  doubt 
"  the  stone  far  greater  than  the  first  "  with  which  Poly- 
phemus took  his  shot  at  the  retreating  Wanderer,  and 
which  "  all  but  struck  the  end  of  the  rudder."  It  is  a 
capital  "  half-brick  "  for  a  giant  to  "  heave  "  at  a  stranger, 
whether  the  Cyclops  did,  in  fact,  heave  it  or  not ;  and, 
together  with  its  six  companions,  it  stands  out  bravely 
and  with  fine  sculpturesque  effect  against  the  horizon. 
A  few  miles  farther  on  is  Catania,  the  second  city  in 
population  and  importance  of  Sicily,  but,  except  for  one 
advantage  which  would  give  distinction  to  the  least  in- 
teresting of  places,  by  no  means  the  second  in  respect  of 
beauty.  As  a  town,  indeed,  it  is  commonplace.  Its  bay, 
though  of  ample  proportions,  has  no  particular  grace  of 
contour;  and  even  the  clustering  masts  in  its  busy  har- 
bor scarcely  avail  to  break  the  monotony  of  that  strip  of 
houses  on  the  flat  seaboard,  which,  apart  from  its  sur- 
roundings, is  all  that  constitutes  Catania.  But  with  Etna 
brooding  over  it  day  and  night,  and  the  town  lying  out- 
stretched and  nestling  between  the  two  vast  arms  which 
the  giant  thrusts  out  towards  the  sea  on  each  side,  Cata- 
nia could  not  look  wholly  prosaic  and  uninteresting  even 
if  she  tried. 

We  must  again  return  to  the  mountain,  for  Etna,  it 
must  be  remembered,  is  a  persistent  feature,  is  the  per- 
sistent feature  of  the  landscape  along  nearly  the  whole 
eastern  coast  of  Sicily  from  Punta  di  Faro  to  the  Cape 
of  Santa  Croce,  if  not  to  the  promontory  of  Syracuse. 
Its  omnipresence  becomes  overawing  as  one  hour  of 


302  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

travel  succeeds  another  and  the  great  mountain  is  as  near 
as  ever.  For  miles  upon  miles  by  this  southward  course 
it  haunts  the  traveller  like  a  reproving  conscience.  Each 
successive  stage  on  his  journey  gives  him  only  a  different 
and  not  apparently  more  distant  view.  Its  height,  ten 
thousand  feet,  although,  of  course,  considerable,  seems 
hardly  sufficient  to  account  for  this  perpetual  and  un- 
abating  prominence,  which,  however,  is  partly  to  be  ex- 
plained by  the  outward  trend  taken  by  the  sea-coast  after 
we  pass  Catania,  and  becoming  more  and  more  marked 
during  the  journey  from  that  city  to  Syracuse.  There 
could  be  no  better  plan  of  operations  for  one  who  wishes 
to  view  the  great  mountain  thoroughly,  continuously, 
protractedly,  and  at  its  best,  than  to  await  a  favorable 
afternoon,  and  then  to  take  the  journey  in  question  by 
railway,  so  timing  it  as  to  reach  the  tongue  of  Santa 
Croce  about  sunset.  From  Catania  to  Lentini  the  travel- 
ler has  Etna,  wherever  visible,  on  his  right;  at  Lentini 
the  line  of  railway  takes  a  sharp  turn  to  the  left,  and, 
striking  the  coast  at  Agnone,  hugs  it  all  along  the  north- 
ern shore  of  the  promontory,  terminating  with  Cape  Santa 
Croce,  upon  approaching  which  point  it  doubles  back 
upon  itself,  to  follow  the  "  re-entering  angle  "  of  the 
cape,  and  then,  once  more  turning  to  the  left,  runs 
nearly  due  southward  along  the  coast  to  Syracuse. 
Throughout  the  twenty  miles  or  so  from  Lentini  to  Au- 
gusta, beneath  the  promontory  of  Santa  Croce,  Etna  lies 
on  the  traveller's  left,  with  the  broad  blue  bay  fringed 
for  part  of  the  way  by  a  mile-wide  margin  of  gleaming 
sand  between  him  and  it.  Then  the  great  volcanic  cone, 
all  its  twenty  miles  from  summit  to  sea-coast  foreshort- 
ened into  nothingness  by  distance,  seems  to  be  rising 
from  the  very  sea;  its  long-cooled  lava  streams  might  al- 


MT.   ETNA  303 

most  be  mingling  with  the  very  waters  of  the  bay.  As 
the  rays  of  the  westering  sun  strike  from  across  the  is- 
land upon  silver-gray  sand  and  blue-purple  sea  and 
russet-iron  mountain  slopes,  one's  first  impulse  is  to  ex- 
claim with  Wordsworth,  in  vastly  differing  circumstances, 
that  "  earth  hath  not  anything  to  show  more  fair."  But 
it  has.  For  he  who  can  prolong  his  view  of  the  moun- 
tain until  after  the  sun  has  actually  sunk  will  find  that 
even  the  sight  he  has  just  witnessed  can  be  surpassed. 
He  must  wait  for  the  moment  when  the  silver  has  gone 
out  of  the  sand,  and  the  purple  of  the  sea  has  changed 
to  gray,  and  the  russet  of  Etna's  lava  slopes  is  deepening 
into  black ;  for  that  is  also  the  moment  when  the  pink 
flush  of  the  departed  sunset  catches  its  peak  and  closes 
the  symphony  of  color  with  a  chord  more  exquisitely 
sweet  than  all. 

From  Cape  Santa  Croce  to  Syracuse  the  route  declines 
a  little  perhaps  in  interest.  The  great  volcano  which 
has  filled  the  eye  throughout  the  journey  is  now  less 
favorably  placed  for  the  view,  and  sometimes,  as  when 
the  railway  skirts  the  Bay  of  Megara  in  a  due  southward 
direction,  is  altogether  out  of  sight.  Nor  does  the  ap- 
proach to  Syracuse  quite  prepare  one  for  the  pathetic 
charm  of  this  most  interesting  of  the  great,  dead,  half- 
deserted  cities  of  the  ancient  world,  or  even  for  the  sin- 
gular beauty  of  its  surroundings.  You  have  to  enter  the 
inhabited  quarter  itself,  and  to  take  up  your  abode  on 
that  mere  sherd  and  fragment  of  old  Greek  Syracuse,  the 
Island  of  Ortygia,  to  which  the  present  town  is  confined 
(or  rather,  you  have  to  begin  by  doing  this,  and  then  to 
sally  forth  on  a  long  walk  of  exploration  round  the  con- 
torni,  to  trace  the  line  of  the  ancient  fortifications,  and 
to  map  out  as  best  you  may  the  four  other  quarters,  each 


304  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

far  larger  than  Ortygia,  which,  long  since  given  over  to 
orange-gardens  and  scattered  villas  and  farmhouses,  were 
once  no  doubt  well-peopled  districts  of  the  ancient  city), 
ere  you  begin  either  to  discover  its  elements  of  material 
beauty  or  to  feel  anything  of  its  spiritual  magic.  It  is 
hard  to  believe  that  this  decayed  and  apparently  still  de- 
caying little  island  town  was  once  the  largest  of  the  Hel- 
lenic cities,  twenty  miles,  according  to  Strabo,  in  circum- 
ference, and  even  in  the  time  of  Cicero  containing  in  one 
of  its  now  deserted  quarters  "  a  very  large  Forum,  most 
beautiful  porticoes,  a  highly  decorated  Town  Hall,  a 
most  spacious  Senate  House,  and  a  superb  Temple  of 
Jupiter  Olympius."  A  spoiler  more  insatiable  than 
Verres  has,  alas !  carried  off  all  these  wonders  of  art  and 
architecture,  and  of  most  of  them  not  even  a  trace  of 
the  foundations  remains.  Of  the  magnificent  Forum  a 
single  unfluted  column  appears  to  be  the  solitary  relic. 
The  porticoes,  the  Town  Hall,  the  Senate  House,  the 
Temple  of  the  Olympian  Jove  are  irrecoverable  even  by 
the  most  active  architectural  imagination.  But  the  west 
wall  of  the  district  which  contained  these  treasures  is  still 
partially  traceable  and  in  the  adjoining  quarter  of  the  an- 
cient city  we  find  ourselves  in  its  richest  region  both  of 
the  archaeological  and  the  picturesque. 

For  here  is  the  famous  Latomia  del  Paradiso,  quarry, 
prison,  guard-house,  and  burial-place  of  the  Syracusan 
Greek,  and  the  yet  more  famous  Theater,  inferior  to  that 
of  Taormina  in  the  completeness  of  the  stage  and  pro- 
scenium, but  containing  the  most  perfectly  preserved  au- 
ditorium in  the  world.  The  entrance  to  the  Latomia, 
that  gigantic,  ear-shaped  orifice  hewn  out  of  the  lime- 
stone cliff,  and  leading  into  a  vast  whispering-chamber, 
the  acoustic  properties  of  which  have  caused  it  to  be 


UATOMIA  DEL  PARADISO  305 

identified  with  the  (historic  or  legendary)  Ear  of  Diony- 
sius,  has  a  strange,  wild  impressiveness  of  its  own.  But 
in  beauty  though  not  in  grandeur  it  is  excelled  by  an- 
other abandoned  limestone  quarry  in  the  neighborhood, 
which  has  been  converted  by  its  owner  into  an  orangery. 
This  lies  midway  between  the  Latomia  del  Paradise  and 
the  Quarry  of  the  Cappuccini,  and  is  in  truth  a  lovely  re- 
treat. Over  it  broods  the  perfect  stillness  that  never 
seems  so  deep  as  in  those  deserted  places  which  have 
once  been  haunts  of  busy  life.  It  is  rich  in  the  spiritual 
charm  of  natural  beauty  and  the  sensuous  luxury  of  sub- 
tropical culture:  close  at  hand  the  green  and  gold  of 
orange  trees,  in  the  middle  distance  the  solemn  plumes  of 
the  cypresses,  and  farther  still  the  dazzling  white  walls 
of  the  limestone  which  the  blue  sky  bends  down  to  meet. 
To  pass  from  the  quarries  to  the  remains  of  the  Greek 
Theater  hard  by  is  in  some  measure  to  exchange  the  de- 
light of  the  eye  for  the  subtler  pleasures  of  mental  asso- 
ciation. Not  that  the  concentric  curves  of  these  molder- 
ing  and  moss-lined  stone  benches  are  without  their  ap- 
peal to  the  senses.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  beautiful 
in  themselves,  and,  like  all  architectural  ruins,  than  which 
no  animate  things  in  nature  more  perfectly  illustrate  the 
scientific  doctrine  of  "  adaptation  to  environment,"  they 
harmonize  deliciously  in  line  and  tone  with  their  natural 
surroundings.  Yet  to  most  people,  and  especially  so  to 
those  of  the  contemplative  habit,  the  Greek  Theater  at 
Syracuse,  like  the  Amphitheaters  of  Rome  and  Verona, 
will  be  most  impressive  at  moments  when  the  senses  are 
least  active  and  the  imagination  busiest.  It  is  when  we 
abstract  the  mind  from  the  existing  conditions  of  the  ruin  ; 
it  is  when  we  "  restore  "  it  by  those  processes  of  mental 
architecture  which  can  never  blunder  into  Vandalism ;  it  is 


306  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

when  we  re-people  its  silent,  time-worn  benches  with  the 
eager,  thronging  life  of  twenty  centuries  ago,  that  there  is 
most  of  magic  in  its  spell.  And  here  surely  imagination 
has  not  too  arduous  a  task,  so  powerfully  is  it  assisted  by 
the  wonderful  completeness  of  these  remains.  More  than 
forty  tiers  of  seats  shaped  out  of  the  natural  limestone 
of  the  rock  can  still  be  quite  distinctly  traced ;  and  though 
their  marble  facings  have  of  course  long  moldered  into 
dust,  whole  cunei  of  them  are  still  practically  as  unin- 
jured by  time,  still  as  fit  for  the  use  for  which  they  were 
intended,  as  when  the  Syracusans  of  the  great  age  of 
Attic  Drama  flocked  hither  to  hear  the  tragedies  of  that 
poet  whom  they  so  deeply  reverenced  that  to  be  able  to 
recite  his  verse  was  an  accomplishment  rewarded  in  the 
prisoners  who  possessed  it  by  liberation  from  bondage. 
To  the  lover  of  classical  antiquity  Syracuse  will  furnish 
"  moments  "  in  abundance ;  but  at  no  other  spot  either  in 
Ortygia  itself  or  in  these  suburbs  of  the  modern  city, 
not  at  the  Fountain  of  Arethusa  on  the  brink  of  the  great 
port ;  not  in  the  Temple  of  Minerva,  now  the  Cathedral, 
with  its  Doric  columns  embedded  in  the  ignominy  of 
plaster ;  not  in  that  wildest  and  grandest  of  those  ancient 
Syracusan  quarries,  the  Latomia  dei  Cappuccini,  where 
the  ill-fated  remnant  of  the  routed  army  of  Nicia's  is 
supposed  to  have  expiated  in  forced  labor  the  failure  of 
the  Sicilian  Expedition,  will  he  find  it  so  easy  to  rebuild 
the  ruined  past  as  here  on  this  desolate  plateau,  with 
these  perfect  monuments  of  the  immortal  Attic  stage 
around  him,  and  at  his  feet  the  town,  the  harbor,  the 
promontory  of  Plemmyrium,  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Ionian  Sea. 

It  is  time,  however,  to  resume  our  journey  and  to  make 
for  that  hardly  less  interesting  or  less  beautifully  situated 


GIRGENTI  307 

town  of  Sicily  which  is  usually  the  next  halting-place  of 
the  traveller.  The  route  to  Girgenti  from  Syracuse  is 
the  most  circuitous  piece  of  railway  communication  in 
the  island.  To  reach  our  destination  it  is  necessary  to 
retrace  our  steps  almost  the  whole  way  back  to  Catania. 
At  Bicocca,  a  few  miles  distant  from  that  city,  the  line 
branches  off  into  the  interior  of  the  country  for  a  dis- 
tance of  some  fifty  or  sixty  miles,  when  it  is  once  more 
deflected,  and  then  descends  in  a  southwesterly  direction 
towards  the  coast.  At  a  few  miles  from  the  sea,  within 
easy  reach  of  its  harbor,  Porto  Empedocle,  lies  Girgenti. 
The  day's  journey  will  have  been  an  interesting  one. 
Throughout  its  westward  course  the  line,  after  traversing 
the  fertile  Plain  of  Catania,  the  rich  grain-bearing  dis- 
trict which  made  Sicily  the  granary  of  the  Roman  world, 
ascends  gradually  into  a  mountainous  region  and  plunges 
between  Calascibetta  and  Castrogiovanni  into  a  tortuous 
ravine,  above  which  rise  towering  the  two  last-named 
heights.  The  latter  of  the  two  is  planted  on  the  site  of 
the  plain  of  Enna,  the  scene  of  the  earliest  abduction 
recorded  in  history.  Flowers  no  longer  flourish  in  the 
same  abundance  on  the  meads  from  which  Persephone 
was  carried  off  by  the  Dark  King  of  Hades ;  but  the  spot 
is  still  fair  and  fertile,  truly  a  "  green  navel  of  the  isle/* 
the  central  Omphalos  from  which  the  eye  ranges  north- 
ward, eastward,  and  south-westward  over  each  expanse 
of  Trinacria's  triple  sea.  But  those  who  do  not  care  to 
arrest  their  journey  for  the  sake  of  sacrificing  to  Demeter, 
or  of  enjoying  the  finest,  in  the  sense  of  the  most  exten- 
sive, view  in  Sicily,  may  yet  admire  the  noble  situation 
of  the  rock-built  town  of  Castrogiovanni,  looking  down 
upon  the  railway  from  its  beetling  crag. 

Girgenti,  the  City  of  Temples,  the  richest  of  all  places 


308  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

in  the  world  save  one  in  monuments  of  Pagan  worship, 
conceals  its  character  effectually  enough  from  him  who 
enters  it  from  the  north.  Within  the  precincts  of  the 
existing  city  there  is  little  sign  to  be  seen  of  its  archaeo- 
logical treasures,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  has  but  few 
attractions  of  its  own.  Agrigentum,  according  to  Pin- 
dar "  the  most  beautiful  city  of  mortals,"  will  not  so 
strike  a  modern  beholder;  but  that,  no  doubt,  is  because, 
like  Syracuse  and  other  famous  seats  of  ancient  art  and 
religious  reverence,  it  has  shrunk  to  dimensions  so  con- 
tracted as  to  leave  all  the  riches  of  those  stately  edifices 
to  which  it  owed  the  fame  of  its  beauty  far  outside  its 
present  boundaries.  Nothing,  therefore,  need  detain  the 
traveller  in  the  town  itself  (unless,  indeed,  he  would 
snatch  a  brief  visit  to  the  later-built  cathedral,  remark- 
able for  nothing  but  the  famous  marble  sarcophagus  with 
its  relief  of  the  Myth  of  Hippolytus),  and  he  will  do  well 
to  mount  the  Rupe  Atenea  without  delay.  The  view, 
however,  in  every  direction  is  magnificent,  the  town  to 
the  right  of  the  spectator  and  behind  him,  the  sea  in  front, 
and  the  rolling,  ruin-dotted  plain  between.  From  this 
point  Girgenti  itself  looks  imposing  enough  with  the 
irregular  masses  of  its  roofs  and  towers  silhouetted 
against  the  sky.  But  it  is  the  seaward  view  which  ar- 
rests and  detains  the  eye.  Hill  summit  or  hotel  window, 
it  matters  little  what  or  where  your  point  of  observation 
is,  you  have  but  to  look  from  the  environs  of  Girgenti 
towards  Porto  Empedocle,  a  few  miles  to  the  south,  and 
you  bring  within  your  field  of  vision  a  space  of  a  few 
dozen  acres  in  extent  which  one  may  reasonably  sup- 
pose to  have  no  counterpart  in  any  area  of  like  dimen- 
sions on  the  face  of  the  globe.  It  is  a  garden  of  molder- 
ing  shrines,  a  positive  orchard  of  shattered  porticoes 


TEMPLES  309 

and  broken  column-shafts,  and  huge  pillars  prostrate  at 
the  foot  of  their  enormous  plinths.  You  can  count  and 
identify  and  name  them  all  even  from  where  you  stand. 
Ceres  and  Proserpine,  Juno  Lacinia,  Concord,  Hercules, 
JEsculapius,  Jupiter  Olympius,  Castor  and  Pollux,  all 
are  visible  at  once,  all  recognizable  and  numerable  from 
east  to  west  in  their  order  as  above.  It  is  a  land  of 
ruined  temples,  and,  to  all  appearance,  of  nothing  else. 
One  can  just  succeed,  indeed,  in  tracing  the  coils  of  the 
railway  as  it  winds  like  a  black  snake  towards  Porto 
Empedocle,  but  save  that  there  are  no  signs  of  life.  One 
descries  no  wagon  upon  the  roads,  no  horse  in  the  fur- 
rows, no  laborer  among  the  vines.  Girgenti  itself,  with 
its  hum  and  clatter,  lies  behind  you ;  no  glimpse  of  life 
or  motion  is  visible  on  the  quays  of  the  port.  All  seems 
as  desolate  as  those  gray  and  moldering  fanes  of  the 
discrowned  gods,  a  solitude  which  only  changes  in  char- 
acter without  deepening  in  intensity  as  the  eye  travels 
across  the  foam-fringed  coast-line  out  on  the  sailless  sea. 
There  is  a  strange  beauty  in  this  silent  Pantheon  of  dead 
deities,  this  landscape  which  might  almost  seem  to  be  still 
echoing  the  last  wail  of  the  dying  Pan ;  and  it  is  a  beauty 
of  death  and  desolation  to  which  the  like  of  nature,  here 
especially  abounding,  contributes  not  a  little  by  contrast. 
For  nowhere  in  Sicily  is  the  country-side  more  lavishly 
enriched  by  the  olive.  Its  contorted  stem  and  quivering, 
silvery  foliage  are  everywhere.  Olives  climb  the  hill- 
slopes  in  straggling  files ;  olives  cluster  in  twos  and 
threes  and  larger  groups  upon  the  level  plain ;  olives  trace 
themselves  against  the  broken  walls  of  the  temples,  and 
one  catches  the  flicker  of  their  branches  in  the  sunlight 
that  streams  through  the  roofless  peristyles.  From  Rupe 
Atenea  out  across  the  plain  to  where  the  eye  lights  upon 


3io  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  white  loops  of  the  road  to  Porto  Empedocle  one 
might  almost  say  that  every  object  which  is  not  a  temple 
or  a  fragment  of  a  temple  is  an  olive  tree. 

By  far  the  most  interesting  of  the  ruins  from  the  archae- 
ologist's point  of  view  is  that  of  the  Temple  of  Concord, 
which,  indeed,  is  one  of  the  best-preserved  in  existence, 
thanks,  curiously  enough,  to  the  religious  Philistinism 
which  in  the  Middle  Ages  converted  it  into  a  Christian 
church.  It  was  certainly  not  in  the  spirit  of  its  tutelary 
goddess  that  it  was  so  transformed :  nothing,  no  doubt, 
was  farther  from  the  thoughts  of  those  who  thus  appro- 
priated the  shrine  of  Concord  than  to  illustrate  the  doc- 
trine of  the  unity  of  religion.  But  art  and  archaeology, 
if  not  romance,  have  good  reason  to  thank  them  that 
they  "  took  over  "  the  building  on  any  grounds,  for  it  is, 
of  course,  to  this  circumstance  that  we  owe  its  perfect 
condition  of  preservation,  and  the  fact  that  all  the  de- 
tails of  the  Doric  style  as  applied  to  religious  architecture 
can  be  studied  in  this  temple  while  so  much  of  so  many 
of  its  companion  fanes  has  crumbled  into  indistinguish- 
able ruin.  Concordia  has  remained  virtually  intact 
through  long  centuries  under  the  homely  title  of  "  the 
Church  of  St.  Gregory  of  the  Turnips,"  and  it  rears  its 
stately  facade  before  the  spectator  in  consequence  with 
architrave  complete,  a  magnificent  hexastyle  of  thirty- 
four  columns,  its  lateral  files  of  thirteen  shafts  apiece 
receding  in  noble  lines  of  perspective.  Juno  Lacinia,  or 
Juno  Lucinda  (for  it  may  have  been  either  as  the  "  La- 
cinian  Goddess  "  or  as  the  Goddess  of  Childbed  that  Juno 
was  worshipped  here),  an  older  fane  than  Concordia, 
though  the  style  had  not  yet  entered  on  its  decline  when 
the  latter  temple  was  built,  is  to  be  seen  hard  by,  a  ma- 
jestic and  touching  ruin.  It  dates  from  the  fifth  century 


RUINS  311 

B.  c.,  and  is  therefore  Doric  of  the  best  period.  Earth- 
quakes, it  seems,  have  co-operated  with  time  in  the  work 
of  destruction,  and  though  twenty-five  whole  pillars  are 
left  standing,  the  facade,  alas !  is  represented  only  by  a 
fragment  of  architrave.  More  extensive  still  have  been 
the  ravages  inflicted  on  the  Temple  of  Hercules  by  his 
one  unconquerable  foe.  This  great  and  famous  shrine, 
much  venerated  of  old  by  the  Agrigentines,  and  contain- 
ing that  statue  of  the  god  which  the  indefatigable  "  col- 
lector "  Verres  vainly  endeavored  to  loot,  is  now  little 
more  than  a  heap  of  tumbled  masonry,  with  one  broken 
column-shaft  alone  still  standing  at  one  extremity  of  its 
site.  But  it  is  among  the  remains  of  the  ancient  sanctu- 
ary of  Zeus,  all  unfinished,  though  that  edifice  was  left 
by  its  too  ambitious  designers,  that  we  get  the  best  idea 
of  the  stupendous  scale  on  which  those  old-world  religi- 
ous architects  and  masons  worked.  The  ruin  itself  has 
suffered  cruelly  from  the  hand  of  man ;  so  much  so,  in- 
deed, that  little  more  than  the  ground  plan  of  the  temple 
is  to  be  traced  by  the  lines  of  column  bases,  vast  masses 
of  its  stone  having  been  removed  from  its  site  to  be  used 
in  the  construction  of  the  Mole.  But  enough  remains  to 
show  the  gigantic  scale  on  which  the  work  was  planned 
and  partially  carried  out.  The  pillars  which  once  stood 
upon  those  bases  were  twenty  feet  in  circumference,  or 
more  than  two  yards  in  diameter  and  each  of  their  flut- 
ings  forms  a  niche  big  enough  to  contain  a  man !  Yon 
Caryatid,  who  has  been  carefully  and  skillfully  pieced 
together  from  the  fragments  doubtless  of  many  Carya- 
tids, and  who  now  lies,  hands  under  head,  supine  and 
staring  at  the  blue  sky  above  him,  is  more  than  four 
times  the  average  height  of  a  man.  From  the  crown  of  his 
bowed  head  to  his  stony  soles  he  measures  twenty- 


312  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

five  feet,  and  to  watch  a  tourist  sitting  by  or  on  him 
and  gazing  on  Girgenti  in  the  distance  is  to  be  visited 
by  a  touch  of  that  feeling  of  the  irony  of  human  things 
to  which  Shelley  gives  expression  in  his  "  Ozymandias." 

The  railway  route  from  Girgenti  to  Palermo  is  less  in- 
teresting than  that  from  Catania  to  Girgenti.  It  runs 
pretty  nearly  due  south  and  north  across  the  island  from 
shore  to  shore,  through  a  country  mountainous  indeed,  as 
is  Sicily  everywhere,  but  not  marked  by  anything  particu- 
larly striking  in  the  way  of  highland  scenery.  At  Termini 
we  strike  the  northern  coast,  and  the  line  branches  off  to 
the  west.  Another  dozen  miles  or  so  brings  us  to  Santa 
Flavia,  whence  it  is  but  half  an  hour's  walk  to  the  ruins 
of  Soluntum,  situated  on  the  easternmost  hill  of  the 
promontory  of  Catalfano.  The  coast-view  from  this 
point  is  striking,  and  on  a  clear  day  the  headland  of 
Cefalu,  some  twenty  miles  away  to  the  eastward,  is 
plainly  visible.  Ten  more  miles  of  "  westing "  and  we 
approach  Palermo,  the  Sicilian  capital,  a  city  better  en- 
tered from  the  sea,  to  which  it  owes  its  beauty  as  it  does 
its  name. 

To  the  traveller  fresh  from  Girgenti  and  its  venerable 
ruins,  or  from  Syracuse  with  its  classic  charm,  the  first 
impressions  of  Palermo  may  very  likely  prove  disap- 
pointing. Especially  will  they  be  so  if  he  has  come  with 
a  mind  full  of  historic  enthusiasm  and  a  memory  laden 
with  the  records  of  Greek  colonization,  Saracen  dominion, 
and  Norman  conquest,  and  expecting  to  find  himself  face 
to  face  with  the  relics  and  remainder  of  at  any  rate  the 
modern  period  of  the  three.  For  Palermo  is  emphatically 
what  the  guide-books  are  accustomed  to  describe  as  "  a 
handsome  modern  city  " ;  which  means,  as  most  people 
familiar  with  the  Latin  countries  are  but  too  well  aware, 


PALERMO  313 

a  city  as  like  any  number  of  other  Continental  cities, 
built  and  inhabited  by  Latin  admirers  and  devotees  of 
Parisian  "  civilization,"  as  "  two  peas  in  a  pod."  In  the 
Sicilian  capital  the  passion  for  the  monotonous  magnifi- 
cence of  the  boulevard  has  been  carried  to  an  almost 
amusing  pitch.  Palermo  may  be  regarded  from  this  point 
of  view  as  consisting  of  two  most  imposing  boulevards 
of  approximately  equal  length,  each  bisecting  the  city 
with  scrupulous  equality  from  east  to  west  and  from 
north  to  south,  and  intersecting  each  other  in  its  exact 
center  at  the  mathematically  precise  angle  of  ninety  de- 
grees. You  stand  at  the  Porta  Felice,  the  water-gate  of 
the  city,  with  your  back  to  the  sea,  and  before  you, 
straight  as  a  die,  stretches  the  handsome  Via  Vittorio 
Emanuele  for  a  mile  or  more  ahead.  You  traverse  the 
handsome  Via  Vittorio  Emanuele  for  half  its  length  and 
you  come  to  the  Quattro  Canti,  a  small  octagonal  piazza 
which  boasts  itself  to  be  the  very  head  of  Palermo,  and 
from  this  intersection  of  four  cross-roads,  you  see 
stretching  to  right  and  left  of  you  the  equally  handsome 
Via  Macqueda.  Walk  down  either  of  these  two  great 
thoroughfares,  the  Macqueda  or  the  Vittorio  Emanuele, 
and  you  will  be  equally  satisfied  with  each ;  the  only 
thing  which  may  possibly  mar  your  satisfaction  will  be 
your  consciousness  that  you  would  be  equally  satisfied 
with  the  other,  and,  indeed,  that  it  requires  an  effort  of 
memory  to  recollect  in  which  of  the  two  you  are.  There 
is  nothing  to  complain  of  in  the  architecture  or  decora- 
tion of  the  houses.  All  is  correct,  regular,  and  symmetri- 
cal in  line,  bright  and  cheerful  in  color,  and,  as  a  whole, 
absolutely  wanting  in  individuality  and  charm. 

It  is,  however,  of  course  impossible  to  kill  an  ancient 
and  interesting  city  altogether  with  boulevards.    Palermo, 


314  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

like  every  other  city,  has  its  "  bits,"  to  be  found  without 
much  difficulty  by  anyone  who  will  quit  the  beaten  track 
of  the  two  great  thoroughfares  and  go  a-questing  for 
them  himself.  He  may  thus  find  enough  here  and  there 
to  remind  him  that  he  is  living  on  the  "  silt "  of  three, 
nay,  four  civilizations,  on  a  fourfold  formation  to  which 
Greek  and  Roman,  Saracen  and  Norman,  have  each  con- 
tributed its  successive  layer.  It  need  hardly  be  said  that 
the  latter  has  left  the  deepest  traces  of  any.  The  Palazzo 
Reale,  the  first  of  the  Palermitan  sights  to  which  the 
traveller  is  likely  to  bend  his  way,  will  afford  the  best 
illustration  of  this.  Saracenic  in  origin,  it  has  received 
successive  additions  from  half-a-dozen  Norman  princes, 
from  Robert  Guiscard  downwards,  and  its  chapel,  the 
Cappella  Palatina,  built  by  Roger  II.  in  the  early  part  of 
the  twelfth  century,  is  a  gem  of  decorative  art  which 
would  alone  justify  a  journey  to  Sicily  to  behold.  The 
purely  architectural  beauties  of  the  interior  are  impres- 
sive enough,  but  the  eye  loses  all  sense  of  them  among 
the  wealth  of  their  decoration.  The  stately  files  of  Nor- 
man arches  up  the  nave  would  in  any  other  building 
arrest  the  gaze  of  the  spectator,  but  in  the  Cappella  Pala- 
tina one  can  think  of  nothing  but  mosaics.  Mosaics  are 
everywhere,  from  western  door  to  eastern  window,  and 
from  northern  to  southern  transept  wall.  A  full-length, 
life-sized  saint  in  mosaic  grandeur  looks  down  upon  you 
from  every  interval  between  the  arches  of  the  nave,  and 
medallions  of  saints  in  mosaic,  encircled  with  endless 
tracery  and  arabesque,  form  the  inner  fact'  of  every  arch. 
Mosaic  angels  float  with  outstretched  arms  above  the 
apse.  A  colossal  Madonna  and  Bambino,  overshadowed 
by  a  hovering  Pere  Eternel,  peer  dimly  forth  in  mosaic 
across  the  altar  through  the  darkness  of  the  chancel. 


THE  PALAZZO  REALE  315 

The  ground  is  golden  throughout,  and  the  somber  rich- 
ness of  the  effect  is  indescribable.  In  Palermo  and  its 
environs,  in  the  Church  of  Martorana,  and  in  the  Cathe- 
dral of  Monreale,  no  less  than  here,  there  is  an  abundance 
of  that  same  decoration,  and  the  mosaics  of  the  latter 
of  the  two  edifices  above  mentioned  are  held  to  be  the 
finest  of  all ;  but  it  is  by  those  of  the  Cappella  Palatina, 
the  first  that  he  is  likely  to  make  the  acquaintance  of, 
that  the  visitor,  not  being  an  expert  or  connoisseur  in 
this  particular  species  of  art-work,  will  perhaps  be  the 
most  deeply  impressed. 

The  Palazzo  Reale  may  doubtless  too  be  remembered 
by  him,  as  affording  him  the  point  of  view  from  which 
he  has  obtained  his  first  idea  of  the-  unrivaled  situation 
of  Palermo.  From  the  flat  roof  of  the  Observatory,  fitted 
up  in  the  tower  of  S.  Ninfa,  a  noble  panorama  lies 
stretched  around  us.  The  spectator  is  standing  midway 
between  Amphitrite  and  the  Golden  Shell  that  she  once 
cast  in  sport  upon  the  shore.  Behind  him  lies  the  Conca 
d'Oro,  with  the  range  of  mountains  against  which  it  rests, 
Grifone  and  Cuccio,  and  the  Billieni  Hills,  and  the  road 
to  Monreale  winding  up  the  valley  past  La  Rocca;  in 
front  lies  the  noble  curve  of  the  gulf,  from  Cape  Mon- 
gerbino  to  the  port,  the  bold  outlines  of  Monte  Pellegrino, 
the  Bay  of  Mondello  still  farther  to  the  left,  and  Capo 
di  Gallo  completing  the  coast-line  vyith  its  promontory 
dimly  peering  through  the  haze.  Palermo,  however,  does 
not  perhaps  unveil  the  full  beauty  of  its  situation  else- 
where than  down  at  the  sea's  edge,  with  the  city  nestling 
in  the  curve  behind  one  and  Pellegrino  rising  across  the 
waters  in  front. 

But  the  environs  of  the  city,  which  are  of  peculiar  in- 
terest and  attraction,  invite  us,  and  first  among  these  is 


316  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Monreale,  at' a  few  miles'  distance,  a  suburb  to  which  the 
traveller  ascends  by  a  road  commanding  at  every  turn 
some  new  and  striking  prospect  of  the  bay.  On  one 
hand  as  he  leaves  the  town,  lies  the  Capuchin  Monastery, 
attractive  with  its  catacombs  of  mummified  ex-citizens 
of  Palermo  to  the  lover  of  the  gruesome  rather  than  of  the 
picturesque.  Farther  on  is  the  pretty  Villa  Tasca,  then 
La  Rocca,  whence  by  a  winding  road  of  very  ancient  con- 
struction we  climb  the  royal  mount  crowned  by  the  fa- 
mous Cathedral  and  Benedictine  Abbey  of  Monreale. 
Here  more  mosaics,  as  has  been  said,  as  fine  in  quality 
and  in  even  greater  abundance  than  those  which  decorate 
the  interior  of  the  Cappella  Palatina ;  they  cover,  it  is 
said,  an  area  of  seventy  thousand  four  hundred  square 
feet.  From  the  Cathedral  we  pass  into  the  beautiful 
cloisters,  and  thence  into  the  fragrant  orange-garden, 
from  which  another  delightful  view  of  the  valley  towards 
Palermo  is  obtained.  San  Martino,  the  site  of  a  sup- 
pressed Benedictine  monastery,  is  the  next  spot  of  in- 
terest. A  steep  path  branching  off  to  the  right  from 
Monreale  leads  to  a  deserted  fort,  named  II  Castellaccio, 
from  which  the  road  descends  as  far  as  S.  Martino, 
whence  a  pleasant  journey  back  to  Palermo  is  made 
through  the  picturesque  valley  of  Bocca  di  Falco. 

The  desire  to  climb  a  beautiful  mountain  is  as  strong 
as  if  climbing  it  were  not  as  effectual  a  way  of  hiding 
its  beauties  as  it  would  be  to  sit  upon  its  picture ;  and 
Monte  Pellegrino,  sleeping  in  the  sunshine,  and  display- 
ing the  noble  lines  of  what  must  surely  be  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  mountains  in  the  world,  is  likely  enough 
to  lure  the  traveller  to  its  summit.  That  mass  of  gray 
limestone,  which  takes  such  an  exquisite  flush  under  the 
red  rays  of  the  evening,  is  not  difficult  to  climb.  The  zig- 


MONTE  PELLEGRINO  317 

zag  path  which  mounts  its  sides  is  plainly  visible  from 
the  town,  and  though  steep  at  first,  it  grows  gradually 
easier  of  ascent  on  the  upper  slopes  of  the  mountain. 
Pellegrino  was  originally  an  island,  and  is  still  separated 
by  the  plain  of  the  Conca  d'Oro  from  the  other  moun- 
tains near  the  coast.  Down  to  a  few  centuries  ago  it  was 
clothed  with  underwood,  and  in  much  earlier  times  it 
grew  corn  for  the  soldiers  of  Hamilcar  Barca,  who  occu- 
pied it  in  the  first  Punic  War.  Under  an  overhanging 
rock  on  its  summit  is  the  Grotto  of  Sta.  Rosalia,  the 
patron  saint  of  the  city,  the  maiden  whom  tradition 
records  to  have  made  this  her  pious  retreat  several  cen- 
turies ago,  and  the  discovery  of  whose  remains  in  1664 
had  the  effect  of  instantaneously  staying  the  ravages  of 
the  plague  by  which  Palermo  was  just  then  being  deso- 
lated. The  grotto  has  since  been  converted,  as  under  the 
circumstances  was  only  fitting,  into  a  church,  to  which 
many  pilgrimages  are  undertaken  by  the  devout.  A 
steep  path  beyond  the  chapel  leads  to  the  survey  station 
on  the  mountain  top,  from  which  a  far-stretching  view  is 
commanded.  The  cone  of  Etna,  over  eighty  miles  off  as 
the  crow  flies,  can  be  seen  from  here,  and  still  farther 
to  the  north,  among  the  Liparaean  group,  the  everlasting 
furnaces  of  Stromboli  and  Vulcano.  There  is  a  steeper 
descent  of  the  mountain  towards  the  southwest,  and 
either  by  this  or  by  retracing  our  original  route  we  re- 
gain the  road,  which  skirts  the  base  of  the  mountain  on 
the  west,  and,  at  four  miles'  distance  from  the  gate  of 
the  town,  conducts  to  one  of  the  most  charmingly  situated 
retreats  that  monarch  ever  constructed  for  himself,  the 
royal  villa-chateau  of  La  Favorita,  erected  by  Ferdinand 
IV.  (Ferdinand  I.  of  the  Two  Sicilies),  otherwise  not 
the  least  uncomfortable  of  the  series  of  uncomfortable 


3i8  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

princes  whom  the  Bourbons  gave  to  the  South  Italian 
peoples. 

Great  as  are  the  attractions  of  Palermo,  they  will 
hardly  avail  to  detain  the  visitor  during  the  rest  of  his 
stay  in  Sicily.  For  him  who  wishes  to  see  Trinacria 
thoroughly,  and  who  has  already  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Messina  and  Syracuse,  of  Catania  and  Girgenti,  the 
capital  forms  the  most  convenient  of  head-quarters  from 
which  to  visit  whatever  places  of  interest  remain  to  be 
seen  in  the  western  and  southwestern  corner  of  the  is- 
land. For  it  is  hence  that,  in  the  natural  order  of  things, 
he  would  start  for  Marsala  (famous  as  the  landing-place 
of  "  the  Thousand,"  under  Garibaldi,  in  1860,  and  the 
commencement  of  that  memorable  march  which  ended  in 
a  few  weeks  in  the  overthrow  of  the  Bourbon  rule)  and 
Trapani  (from  drepanon),  another  sickle-shaped  town, 
dear  to  the  Virgilian  student  as  the  site  of  the  games  in- 
stituted by  ^Eneas  to  the  memory  of  the  aged  Anchises, 
who  died  at  Eryx,  a  poetically  appropriate  spot  for  a 
lover  of  Aphrodite  to  end  his  days  in.  The  town  of  the 
goddess  on  the  top  of  Monte  San  Giuliano,  the  ancient 
Eryx,  is  fast  sinking  to  decay.  Degenerate  descendants, 
or  successors  would  perhaps  be  more  correct,  of  her  an- 
cient worshippers  prefer  the  plain  at  its  foot,  and  year 
by  year  migrations  take  place  thither  which  threaten  to 
number  this  immemorial  settlement  of  pagan  antiquity 
among  the  dead  cities  of  the  past,  and  to  leave  its  grass- 
grown  streets  and  moldering  cathedral  alone  with  the 
sea  and  sky.  There  are  no  remains  of  the  world-famed 
shrine  of  Venus  Erycina  now  save  a  few  traces  of  its 
foundation  and  an  ancient  reservoir,  once  a  fountain  dedi- 
cated to  the  goddess.  One  need  not  linger  on  San 
Giuliano  longer  than  is  needful  to  survey  the  mighty 


SELINUNTO  319 

maritime  panorama  which  surrounds  the  spectator,  and 
to  note  Cape  Bon  in  Africa  rising  faintly  out  of  the  south- 
ward haze. 

For  Selinunto  has  to  be  seen,  and  Segesta,  famous  both 
for  the  grandeur  and  interest  of  _  their  Greek  remains. 
From  Castelvetrano  station,  on  the  return  route,  it  is  but 
a  short  eight  miles  to  the  ruins  of  Selinus,  the  western- 
most of  the  Hellenic  settlements  of  Sicily,  a  city  with  a 
history  of  little  more  than  two  centuries  of  active  life, 
and  of  upwards  of  two  thousand  years  of  desolation. 
Pammilus  of  Megara  founded  it,  so  says  legend,  in  the 
seventh  century  B.  c.  In  the  fifth  century  of  that  era 
the  Carthaginians  destroyed  it.  Ever  since  that  day  it 
has  remained  deserted  except  as  a  hiding-place  for  the 
early  Christians  in  the  days  of  their  persecution,  and  as 
a  stronghold  of  the  Mohammedans  in  their  resistance  to 
King  Roger.  Yet  in  its  short  life  of  some  two  hundred 
and  twenty  years  it  became,  for  some  unknown  reason  of 
popular  sanctity,  the  site  of  no  fewer  than  seven  temples, 
four  of  them  among  the  largest  ever  known  to  have  ex- 
isted. Most  of  them  survive,  it  is  true,  only  in  the  con- 
dition of  prostrate  fragments,  for  it  is  supposed  that 
earthquake  and  not  time  has  been  their  worst  foe,  and 
the  largest  of  them,  dedicated  to  Hercules,  or.  as  some 
hold,  to  Appollo,  was  undoubtedly  never  finished  at  all. 
Its  length,  including  steps,  reaches  the  extraordinary 
figure  of  three  hundred  and  seventy-one  feet ;  its  width,  in- 
cluding steps,  is  a  hundred  and  seventy-seven  feet ;  while 
its  columns  would  have  soared  when  completed  to  the  stu- 
pendous height  of  fifty-three  feet.  It  dates  from  the 
fifth  century  B.  c.,  and  it  was  probably  the  appearance 
of  the  swarthy  Carthaginian  invaders  which  interrupted 
the  masons  at  their  work.  It  now  lies  a  colossal  heap  of 


320  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

mighty,  prostrate,  broken  columns,  their  flutings  worn 
nearly  smooth  by  time  and  weather,  and  of  plinths  shaped 
and  rounded  by  the  same  agencies  into  the  similitude  of 
gigantic  mountain  boulders. 

It  is,  however,  the  temples  of  Selinunto  rather  than 
their  surroundings  which  command  admiration  and  in 
this  respect  they  stand  in  marked  contrast  to  that  site  of 
a  single  unnamed  ruin,  which  is,  perhaps,  taking  site  and 
ruin  together,  the  most  "  pathetic  "  piece  of  the  pictur- 
esque in  all  Sicily,  the  hill  and  temple  of  Segesta.  From 
Calatafimi,  scene  of  one  of  the  Garibaldian  battles,  to 
Segesta  the  way  lies  along  the  Castellamare  road,  and 
through  a  beautiful  and  well-watered  valley.  The  site 
of  the  town  itself  is  the  first  to  be  reached.  Monte  Bar- 
baro,  with  the  ruins  of  the  theater,  lies  to  the  north,  to 
the  west  the  hill  whereon  stands  the  famous  Temple. 
No  one  needs  a  knowledge  of  Greek  archseology  or  Greek 
history,  or  even  a  special  love  for  Greek  art,  in  order  to 
be  deeply  moved  by  the  spectacle  which  the  spot  presents. 
He  needs  no  more  than  the  capacity  of  Virgil's  hero  to 
be  touched  by  "  the  sense  of  tears  in  mortal  things." 
The  Temple  itself  is  perfect,  except  that  its  columns  are 
still  unfluted;  but  it  is  not  the  simple  and  majestic  out- 
line of  the  building,  its  lines  of  lessening  columns,  or  its 
massive  architraves  upborne  upon  those  mighty  shafts, 
which  most  impress  us,  but  the  harmony  between  this 
great  work  of  man  and  its  natural  surroundings.  In 
this  mountain  solitude,  and  before  this  deserted  shrine 
of  an  extinct  worship  we  are  in  presence  of  the  union 
of  two  desolations,  and  one  had  well-nigh  said  of  two 
eternities,  the  everlasting  hills  and  the  imperishable 
yearnings  of  the  human  heart.  No  words  can  do  justice 
to  the  lonely  grandeur  of  the  Temple  of  Segesta.  It  is 


MUSEUM  OF  PALERMO  321 

unlike  any  other  in  Sicily  in  this  matter  of  unique  posi- 
tion. It  has  no  rival  temple  near  it,  nor  are  there  even 
the  remains  of  any  other  building,  temple  or  what  not, 
to  challenge  comparison,  within  sight  of  the  spectator. 
This  ruin  stands  alone  in  every  sense,  alone  in  point  of 
physical  isolation,  alone  in  the  austere  pathos  which  that 
position  imparts  to  it. 

In  the  Museum  of  Palermo,  to  which  city  the  explorer 
of  these  ruined  sanctuaries  of  art  and  religion  may  now 
be  supposed  to  have  returned,  the  interesting  metopes 
of  Selinus  will  recall  the  recollection  of  that  greater  mu- 
seum of  ruins  which  he  just  visited  at  Selinunto;  but  the 
suppressed  monastery,  which  has  been  now  turned  into 
a  Museo  Nazionale,  has  not  much  else  besides  its  Hel- 
lenic architectural  fragments  to  detain  him.  And  it  may 
be  presumed,  perhaps,  that  the  pursuit  of  antiquities, 
which  may  be  hunted  with  so  much  greater  success  in 
other  parts  of  the  islands,  is  not  precisely  the  object  which 
leads  most  visitors  to  Sicily  to  prolong  their  stay  in  this 
beautifully  seated  city.  Its  attraction  lies,  in  effect  and 
almost  wholly,  in  the  characteristic  noted  in  the  phrase 
just  used.  Architecturally  speaking,  Palermo  is  naught: 
it  is  branded,  as  has  been  already  said,  with  the  banality 
and  want  of  distinction  of  all  modern  Italian  cities  of  the 
second  class.  And,  moreover,  all  that  man  has  ever  done 
.for  her  external  adornment  she  can  show  you  in  a  few 
hours ;  but  days  and  weeks  would  not  more  than  suffice 
for  the  full  appreciation  of  all  she  owes  to  nature.  An- 
tiquities she  has  none,  or  next  to  none,  unless,  indeed, 
we  are  prepared  to  include  relics  of  the  comparatively 
modern  Norman  domination,  which  of  course  abound  in 
her  beautiful  mosaics,  in  that  category.  The  silt  of  suc- 
cessive ages,  and  the  detritus  of  a  life  which  from  the 


322  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

earliest  times  has  been  a  busy  one,  have  irrecoverably 
buried  almost  all  vestiges  of  her  classic  past.  Her  true, 
her  only,  but  her  all-sufficient  attraction  is  conveyed  in 
her  ancient  name.  She  is  indeed  "  Panormus  " ;  it  is  as 
the  "  all  harbor  city  "  that  she  fills  the  eye  and  mind  and 
lingers  in  the  memory  and  lives  anew  in  the  imagination. 
When  the  city  itself  and  its  environs  as  far  as  Monreale 
and  San  Martino  and  La  Zisa  have  been  thoroughly  ex- 
plored; when  the  imposing  Porta  Felice  has  been  duly 
admired;  when  the  beautiful  gardens  of  La  Flora,  with 
its  wealth  of  sub-tropical  vegetation,  has  been  sufficiently 
promenaded  on;  when  La  Cala,  a  quaint  little  narrow, 
shallow  harbor,  and  the  busy  life  on  its  quays  have  been 
adequately  studied;  then  he  who  loves  nature  better  than 
the  works  of  man,  and  prefers  the  true  eternal  to  the 
merely  figurative  "  immortal/'  will  confess  to  himself 
that  Palermo  has  nothing  fairer,  nothing  more  captivat- 
ing, to  show  than  that  chef-d'  ceuvre  which  the  Supreme 
Artificer  executed  in  shaping  those  noble  lines  of  rock  in 
which  Pellegrino  descends  to  the  city  at  its  foot,  and  in 
tracing  that  curve  of  coast-line  upon  which  the  city  has 
sprung  up  under  the  mountain's  shadow.  The  view  of 
this  guardian  and  patron  height,  this  tutelary  rock,  as  one 
might  almost  fancy  it,  of  the  Sicilian  capital  is  from  all 
points  and  at  all  hours  beautiful.  It  dominates  the  city 
and  the  sea  alike  from  whatever  point  one  contemplates 
it,  and  the  bold  yet  soft  beauty  of  its  contours  has  in 
every  aspect  a  never-failing  charm.  The  merest  lounger, 
the  most  frivolous  of  promenaders  in  Palermo,  should 
congratulate  himself  on  having  always  before  his  eyes  a 
mountain,  the  mere  sight  of  which  may  be  almost  de- 
scribed as  a  "  liberal  education  "  in  poetry  and  art.  He 
should  haunt  the  Piazza  Marina,  however,  not  merely  at 


THE  PIAZZA  MARINA  323 

the  promenading  time  of  day,  but  then  also,  nay,  then 
most  of  all,  when  the  throng  has  begun  to  thin,  and,  as 
Homer  puts  it,  "  all  the  ways  are  shadowed,"  at 
the  hour  of  sunset.  For  then  the  clear  Mediterranean 
air  is  at  its  clearest,  the  fringing  foam  at  its  whitest,  the 
rich,  warm  background  of  the  Conca  d'Oro  at  its  mellow- 
est, while  the  bare,  volcanic-looking  sides  of  Monte  Pelle- 
grino  seem  fusing  into  ruddy  molten  metal  beneath  the 
slanting  rays.  Gradually,  as  you  watch  the  color  die  out 
of  it,  almost  as  it  dies  out  of  a  snow-peak  at  the  fading 
of  the  Alpen-gluth,  the  shadows  begin  to  creep  up  the 
mountain-sides,  forerunners  of  the  night  which  has  al- 
ready fallen  upon  the  streets  of  the  city,  and  through 
which  its  lights  are  beginning  to  peer.  A  little  longer, 
and  the  body  of  the  mountain  will  be  a  dark,  vague  mass, 
with  only  its  cone  and  graceful  upper  ridges  traced  faintly 
against  pale  depths  of  sky. 

Thus  and  at  such  an  hour  may  one  see  the  city,  bay, 
and  mountain  at  what  may  be  called  their  aesthetic  or 
artistic  best.  But  they  charm,  and  with  a  magic  of  almost 
equal  potency,  at  all  hours.  The  fascination  remains  un- 
abated to  the  end,  and  never,  perhaps,  is  it  more  keenly 
felt  by  the  traveller  than  when  Palermo  is  smiling  her 
God-speed  upon  the  "parting  guest,  and  from  the  deck 
of  the  steamer  which  is  to  bear  him  away  he  waves  his 
last  farewell  to  the  receding  city  lying  couched,  the  love- 
liest of  Ocean's  Nereids,  in  her  shell  of  gold. 

If  his  hour  of  departure  be  in  the  evening,  when  the 
rays  of  the  westering  sun  strike  athwart  the  base  of  Pelle- 
grino,  and  tip  with  fire  the  summits  of  the  low-lying 
houses  of  the  seaport,  and  stream  over  and  past  them 
upon  the  glowing  waters  of  the  harbor  the  sight  is  one 
which  will  not  be  soon  forgotten.  Dimmer  and  dimmer 


324  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

grows  the  beautiful  city  with  the  increasing  distance  and 
the  gathering  twilight.  The  warm  rose-tints  of  the  noble 
mountain  cool  down  into  purple,  and  darken  at  last  into 
a  heavy  mass  of  somber  shadows ;  the  sea  changes  to  that 
spectral  silver  which  overspreads  it  in  the  gloaming.  It 
is  a  race  between  the  flying  steamer  and  the  falling  night 
to  hide  the  swiftly  fading  coast-line  altogether  from  the 
view;  and  so  close  is  the  contest  that  up  to  the  last  it 
leaves  us  doubtful  whether  it  be  darkness  or  distance  that 
has  taken  it  from  us.  But  in  a  few  more  minutes,  6e  it 
from  one  cause  or  from  the  other,  the  effacement  is  com- 
plete. Behind  us,  where  Palermo  lay  a  while  ago,  there 
looms  only  a  bank  of  ever-darkening  haze,  and  before 
the  bows  of  our  vessel  the  gray  expanse  of  Mediterranean 
waters  which  lie  between  us  and  the  Bay  of  Naples. 


XIV 
NAPLES 

The  Bay  of  Naples — Vesuvius — Characteristic  scenes  of  street 
life — The  alfresco  restaurants — Chapel  of  St.  Januarius — 
Virgil's  Tomb — Capri,  the  Mecca  of  artists  and  lovers  of  the 
picturesque — The  Emperor  Tiberius — Description  of  the  Blue 
Grotto — The  coast-road  from  Castellatnare  to  Sorrento — 
Amalfi — Sorrento,  "  the  village  of  flowers  and  the  flower  of 
villages  " — The  Temples  of  Paestum. 

NAPLES  in  itself,  apart  from  its  surroundings,  is 
not  of  surpassing  beauty.  Its  claim  to  be  "  the 
most  beautiful  city  in  Europe  "  rests  solely  on 
the  adventitious  aid  of  situation.  When  the  fictitious 
charm  which  distance  gives  is  lost  by  a  near  approach, 
it  will  be  seen  that  the  city  which  has  inspired  the  poets 
of  all  ages  is  little  more  than  a  huge,  bustling,  common- 
place commercial  port,  not  to  be  compared  for  a  moment, 
aesthetically  speaking,  with  Genoa,  Florence,  Venice,  or 
many  other  Italian  towns  equally  well  known  to  the 
traveller.  This  inherent  lack  is,  however,  more  than 
compensated  for  by  the  unrivaled  natural  beauties  of  its 
position,  and  of  its  charming  environs.  No  town  in  Eu- 
rope, not  Palermo  with  its  "  Golden  Shell,"  Constanti- 
nople with  its  "  Golden  Horn,"  nor  Genoa,  the  "  Gem 
of  the  Riviera,"  can  boast  of  so  magnificent  a  situation. 
The  traveller  who  approaches  Naples  by  sea  may  well 
be  excused  for  any  exuberance  of  language.  As  the  ship 

325 


326  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

enters  the  Gulf,  passing  between  the  beautiful  isles  of 
Ischia  and  Capri,  which  seem  placed  like  twin  outposts 
to  guard  the  entrance  of  this  watery  paradise,  the  scene  is 
one  which  will  not  soon  fade  from  the  memory.  All 
around  stretches  the  bay  in  its  azure  immensity,  its  sweep- 
ing curves  bounded  on  the  right  by  the  rocky  Sorren- 
tine  promontory,  with  Sorrento,  Meta,  and  a  cluster  of 
little  fishing  villages  nestling  in  the  olive-clad  precipices, 
half  hidden  by  orange  groves  and  vineyards,  and  the  ma- 
jestic form  of  Monte  Angelo  towering  above.  Farther 
along  the  coast,  Vesuvius,  the  tutelary  genius  of  the 
scene,  arrests  the  eye,  its  vine-clad  lower  slopes  present- 
ing a  startling  contrast  to  the  dark  cone  of  the  volcano 
belching  out  fire  and  smoke,  a  terrible  earnest  of  the 
hidden  powers  within.  On  the  left  the  graceful  undula- 
tions of  the  Camaldoli  hills  descend  to  the  beautifully 
indented  bay  of  Pozzuoli,  which  looks  like  a  miniature 
replica  of  the  parent  gulf  with  the  volcano  of  Monte 
Nuovo  for  its  Vesuvius.  Then  straight  before  the  specta- 
tor lies  a  white  mass  like  a  marble  quarry;  this,  with  a 
white  projecting  line  losing  itself  in  the  graceful  curve 
of  Vesuvius,  resolves  itself,  as  the  steamer  draws  nearer, 
into  Naples  and  its  suburbs  of  Portici  and  Torre  del 
Greco.  Beyond,  in  the  far  background,  the  view  is  shut 
in  by  a  phantom  range  of  snowy  peaks,  an  offshoot  of 
the  Abruzzi  Mountains,  faintly  discerned  in  the  purple 
haze  of  the  horizon.  All  these  varied  prospects  unite  to 
form  a  panorama  which,  for  beauty  and  extent,  is  hardly 
to  be  matched  in  Europe. 

This  bald  and  inadequate  description  may  perhaps 
serve  to  explain  one  reason  for  the  pre-eminence  among 
the  many  beautiful  views  in  the  South  of  Europe  popu- 
larly allowed  to  the  Bay  of  Naples.  One  must  attribute 


THE  BAY  OF  NAPLES  327 

the  aesthetic  attraction  of  the  Bay  a  good  deal  to  the 
variety  of  beautiful  and  striking  objects  comprised  in 
the  view.  Here  we  have  not  merely  a  magnificent  bay 
with  noble,  sweeping  curves  (the  deeply  indented  coasts 
of  the  Mediterranean  boast  many  more  extensive),  but 
in  addition  we  have  in  this  comparatively  circumscribed 
area  an  unequaled  combination  of  sea,  mountain,  and 
island  scenery.  In  short,  the  Gulf  of  'Naples,  with  its 
islands,  capes,  bays,  straits,  and  peninsulas,  is  an  epit- 
ome of  the  principal  physical  features  of  the  globe,  and 
might  well  serve  as  an  object  lesson  for  a  child  making 
its  first  essay  at  geography.  Then,  too,  human  interest 
is  not  lacking.  The  mighty  city  of  Naples,  like  a  huge 
octopus,  stretches  out  its  feelers  right  and  left,  forming 
the  straggling  towns  and  villages  which  lie  along  the 
eastern  and  western  shores  of  the  bay.  A  more  plausible, 
if  prosaic,  reason  for  the  popularity  of  the  Bay  of  Naples 
may,  however,  be  found  in  its  familiarity.  Naples  and 
Vesuvius  are  as  well  known  to  us  in  prints,  photographs, 
or  engravings  as  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  or  the  Houses  of 
Parliament.  If  other  famous  bays,  Palermo  or  Corinth, 
for  instance,  were  equally  well  known,  that  of  Naples 
would  have  many  rivals  in  popular  estimation. 

The  traveller  feels  landing  a  terrible  anticlimax.  The 
noble  prospect  of  the  city  and  the  bay  has  raised  his  ex- 
pectations to  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  disenchantment 
is  all  the  greater.  The  sordid  surroundings  of  the  port, 
the  worst  quarter  of  the  city,  the  squalor  and  filth  of  the 
streets,  preceded  by  the  inevitable  warfare  with  the  ra- 
pacious rabble  of  yelling  boatmen,  porters,  and  cab- 
drivers,  make  the  disillusionized  visitor  inclined  to  place 
a  sinister  interpretation  on  the  equivocal  maxim,  Vedi 
Napoli  e  poi  mori;  and  Goethe's  aphorism,  that  a  man 


328  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

can  never  be  utterly  miserable  who  retains  the  recollec- 
tion of  Naples,  seems  to  him  the  hollowest  mockery  and 
the  cruellest  irony. 

The  streets  of  Naples  are  singularly  lacking  in  archi- 
tectural interest.  Not  only  are  there  few  historic  build- 
ings or  monuments,  which  is  curious  when  we  consider 
the  important  part  Naples  played  in  the  mediaeval  history 
of  the  South  of  Europe,  but  there  are  not  many  hand- 
some modern  houses  or  palaces  of  any  pretensions.  Not 
that  Naples  is  wanting  in  interest.  The  conventional 
sight-seer,  who  calls  a  place  interesting  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  pages  devoted  to  its  principal  attractions 
in  the  guide-books,  may,  perhaps,  contemptuously  dis- 
miss this  great  city  as  a  place  which  can  be  sufficiently 
well  *'  done  "  in  a  couple  of  days ;  but  to  the  student  of 
human  nature  Naples  offers  a  splendid  field  in  its  varied 
and  characteristic  scenes  of  street  life.  To  those  who 
look  below  the  surface,  this  vast  hive  of  humanity,  in 
which  Italian  life  can  be  studied  in  all  its  varied  phases 
and  aspects,  cannot  be  wholly  commonplace. 

It  is  a  truism  that  the  life  of  Naples  must  be  seen  in 
the  streets.  The  street  is  the  Neapolitan's  bedroom, 
dining-room,  dressing-room,  club,  and  recreation  ground. 
The  custom  of  making  the  streets  the  home  is  not  con- 
fined to  the  men.  The  fair  sex  are  fond  of  performing 
al  fresco  toilettes,  and  may  frequently  be  seen  mutua1ly 
assisting  each  other  in  the  dressing  of  their  magnificent 
hair  in  full  view  of  the  passers-by. 

As  in  Oriental  cities,  certain  trades  are  usually  con- 
fined to  certain  streets  or  alleys  in  the  poorer  quarters 
of  the  town.  The  names  at  street  corners  show  that  this 
custom  is  a  long-established  one.  There  are  streets  solely 
for  cutlers,  working  jewelers,  second-hand  bookstalls, 


PIAZZA  DEGLI  OREFICI  329 

and  old  clothes  shops,  to  name  a  few  of  the  staple  trades. 
The  most  curious  of  these  trading-streets  is  one  not  far 
from  the  Cathedral,  confined  to  the  sale  of  religious 
wares ;  shrines,  tawdry  images,  cheap  crucifixes,  crosses, 
and  rosaries  make  up  the  contents  of  these  ecclesiastical 
marine  stores.  This  distinctive  local  character  of  the 
various  arts  and  crafts  is  now  best  exemplified  in  the 
Piazza  dt'gli  Orefici.  This  square  and  the  adjoining 
streets  are  confined  to  silversmiths  and  jewelers,  and 
here  the  characteristic  ornaments  of  the  South  Italian 
peasant  women  can  still  be  bought,  though  they  are  be- 
ginning to  be  replaced  by  the  cheap,  machine-made 
abominations  of  Birmingham.  Apart  from  the  throng- 
ing crowds  surging  up  and  down,  these  narrow  streets 
and  alleys  are  full  of  dramatic  interest.  The  curious 
characteristic  habits  and  customs  of  the  people  may  best 
be  studied  in  the  poor  quarters  round  the  Cathedral.  He 
who  would  watch  this  shifting  and  ever-changing  human 
kaleidoscope  must  not,  however,  expect  to  do  it  while 
strolling  leisurely  along.  This  would  be  as  futile  as  at- 
tempting to  stem  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  street  currents, 
for  the  streets  are  narrow  and  the  traffic  abundant.  A 
doorway  will  be  found  a  convenient  harbor  of  refuge 
from  the  .long  strings  of  heavily  laden  mules  and  don- 
keys which  largely  replace  vehicular  traffic.  A  common 
and  highly  picturesque  object  is  the  huge  charcoal- 
burner's  wagon,  drawn  usually  by  three  horses  abreast. 
The  richly  decorated  pad  of  the  harness  is  very  notice- 
able, with  its  brilliant  array  of  gaudy  brass  flags  and  the 
shining  repousse  plates,  with  figures  of  the  Madonna 
and  the  saints,  which,  together  with  the  Pagan  symbols 
of  horns  and  crescents,  are  supposed  to  protect  the  horses 
from  harm.  Unfortunatelv  these  talismans  do  not  seem 


330  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

able  to  protect  them  from  the  brutality  of  their  masters. 
The  Neapolitan's  cruelty  to  animals  is  proverbial.  This 
characteristic  is  especially  noticeable  on  Festas  and  Sun- 
days. A  Neapolitan  driver  apparently  considers  the  seat- 
ing capacity  of  a  vehicle  and  the  carrying  power  of  a 
horse  to  be  limited  only  by  the  number  of  passengers  who 
can  contrive  to  hang  on,  and  with  anything  less  than  a 
dozen  perched  on  the  body  of  the  cart,  two  or  three  in 
the  net,  and  a  couple  on  the  shafts,  he  will  think  himself 
weakly  indulgent  to  his  steed.  It  is  on  the  Castellamare 
Road  on  a  Festa  that  the  visitor  will  best  realize  the 
astonishing  elasticity  of  a  Neapolitan's  notions  as  to  the 
powers  of  a  beast  of  burden.  A  small  pony  will  often 
be  seen  doing  its  best  to  drag  uphill  a  load  of  twelve  or 
fifteen  hulking  adults,  incited  to  its  utmost  efforts  by 
physical  suasion  in  the  form  of  sticks  and  whips,  and 
moral  suasion  in  the  shape  of  shrill  yells  and  oaths. 
Their  diabolical  din  seems  to  give  some  color  to  the  say- 
ing that  "  Naples  is  a  paradise  inhabited  by  devils." 

The  al  fresco  restaurants  of  the  streets  are  curious  and 
instructive.  That  huge  jar  of  oil  simmering  on  a  char- 
coal fire  denotes  a  fried-fish  stall,  where  fish  and  "  oil- 
cakes "  are  retailed  at  one  sou  a  portion.  These  stalls 
are  much  patronized  by  the  very  poor,  with  whom  maca- 
roni is  an  almost  unattainable  luxury.  At  street  corners 
a  snail-soup  stall  may  often  be  seen,  conspicuous  by  its 
polished  copper  pot.  The  poor  consider  snails  a  great 
delicacy;  and  in  this  they  are  only  following  ancient 
customs,  for  even  in  Roman  times  snails  were  in  demand, 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  number  of  snail-shells  found 
among  the  Pompeii  excavations.  A  picturesque  feature 
are  the  herds  of  goats.  These  ambulating  dairies  stream 
through  the  town  in  the  early  morning.  The  intelligent 


THEACQUAIOLO  331 

beasts  know  their  customers,  and  each  flock  has  its  regu- 
lar beat,  which  it  takes  of  its  own  accord.  Sometimes  the 
goats  are  milked  in  the  streets,  the  pail  being  let  down 
from  the  upper  floors  of  the  houses  by  a  string,  a  pris- 
tine type  of  ascenseur.  Generally,  though,  the  animal 
mounts  the  stairs  to  be  milked,  and  descends  again  in 
the  most  matter-of-fact  manner. 

The  gaudily  painted  stalls  of  the  iced-water  and  lemon- 
ade dealers  give  warmth  of  color  to  the  streets.  There 
are  several  grades  in  the  calling  of  acquaiolo  (water- 
seller).  The  lowest  member  of  the  craft  is  the  peripatetic 
acquaiolo,  who  goes  about  furnished  simply  with  a  bar- 
rel of  iced  water  strapped  on  his  back,  and  a  basket  of 
lemons  slung  to  his  waist,  and  dispenses  drinks  at  two 
centesimi  a  tumbler.  It  was  thought  that  the  comple- 
tion of  the  Serino  aqueduct,  which  provides  the  whole 
of  Naples  with  excellent  water  at  the  numerous  public 
fountains,  would  do  away  with  the  time-honored  water- 
seller;  but  it  seems  that  the  poorer  classes  cannot  do 
without  a  flavoring  of  some  sort,  and  so  this  humble  fra- 
ternity continue  as  a  picturesque  adjunct  of  the  streets. 
These  are  only  a  few  of  the  more  striking  objects  of 
interest  which  the  observer  will  not  fail  to  notice  in  his 
walks  through  the  city.  But  we  must  leave  this  fascinat- 
ing occupation  and  turn  to  some  of  the  regulation  sights 
of  Naples. 

Though,  in  proportion  to  its  size,  Naples  contains 
fewer  sights  and  specific  objects  of  interest  than  any 
other  city  in  Italy,  there  are  still  a  few  public  buildings 
and  churches  which  the  tourist  should  not  neglect.  There 
are  quite  half-a-dozen  churches  out  of  the  twenty-five  or 
thirty  noticed  by  the  guide-books  which  fully  repay  the 
trouble  of  visiting  them.  The  Cathedral  is  in  the  old 


332  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

part  of  the  town.  Its  chief  interest  lies  in  the  gorgeous 
Chapel  of  St.  Januarius,  the  patron  saint  of  Naples.  In 
a  silver  shrine  under  the  richly  decorated  altar  is  the 
famous  phial  containing  the  coagulated  blood  of  the  saint. 
This  chapel  was  built  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow  by  the  grateful  populace 
in  honor  of  the  saint  who  had  saved  their  city  "  from  the 
fire  of  Vesuvius  by  the  intercession  of  his  precious  blood." 
St.  Januarius  is  held  in  the  highest  veneration  by  the 
lower  classes  of  Naples,  with  whom  the  liquefaction 
ceremony,  which  takes  place  twice  a  year,  is  an  article 
of  faith  in  which  they  place  the  most  implicit  reliance. 
The  history  of  the  holy  man  is  too  well  known  to  need 
repetition  here.  The  numerous  miracles  attributed  to 
him,  and  the  legends  which  have  grown  round  his  name, 
would  make  no  inconsiderable  addition  to  the  hagiologi- 
cal  literature  of  Italy. 

Of  the  other  churches,  Sta.  Chiara,  S.  Domenico  Mag- 
giore.  and  S.  Lorenzo  are  best  worth  visiting.  In  build- 
ing Sta.  Chiara  the  architect  would  seem  to  have  aimed 
at  embodying,  as  far  as  possible,  the  idea  of  the  church 
militant,  the  exterior  resembling  a  fortress  rather  than  a 
place  of  worship.  In  accordance  with  the  notions  of 
church  restoration  which  prevailed  in  the  last  century, 
Giotto's  famous  frescoes  have  been  covered  with  a  thick 
coating  of  whitewash,  the  sapient  official  who  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  restoration  considering  these  paintings 
too  dark  and  gloomy  for  mural  decoration.  Now  the 
most  noteworthy  objects  in  the  church  are  the  Gothic 
tombs  of  the  Angevin  kings. 

The  two  churches  of  S.  Domenico  and  S.  Lorenzo  are 
not  far  off,  and  the  sightseer  in  this  city  of  "  magnificent 
distances  "  is  grateful  to  the  providence  which  has  placed 


THE  NATIONAL  MUSEUM  333 

the  three  most  interesting  churches  in  Naples  within  a 
comparatively  circumscribed  area.  S.  Domenico  should 
be  visited  next,  as  it  contains  some  of  the  best  examples 
of  Renaissance  sculpture  in  Naples  as  Sta.  Chiara  does 
of  Gothic  art.  It  was  much  altered  and  repaired  in  the 
course  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  but 
still  remains  one  of  the  handsomest  of  the  Neapolitan 
churches.  Its  most  important  monument  is  the  marble 
group  in  relief  of  the  Virgin,  with  SS.  Matthew  and 
John,  by  Giovanni  da  Nola,  which  is  considered  to  be 
the  sculptor's  best  work.  The  Gothic  church  of  S. 
Lorenzo  has  fortunately  escaped  in  part  the  disfiguring 
hands  of  the  seventeenth  century  restorer.  This  church 
is  of  some  literary  and  historical  interest,  Petrarch  hav- 
ing spent  several  months  in  the  adjoining  monastery; 
and  it  was  here  that  Boccaccio  saw  the  beautiful  princess 
immortalized  in  his  tales  by  the  name  of  Fiammetta. 

In  order  to  appreciate  the  true  historical  and  geo- 
graphical significance  of  Naples,  we  must  remember  that 
the  whole  of  this  volcanic  district  is  one  great  palimpsest, 
and  that  it  is  only  with  the  uppermost  and  least  impor- 
tant inscription  that  we  have  hitherto  concerned  our- 
selves. To  form  an  adequate  idea  of  this  unique  coun- 
try we  must  set  ourselves  to  decipher  the  earlier- written 
inscriptions.  For  this  purpose  we  must  visit  the  Na- 
tional Museum,  which  contains  rich  and  unique  collec- 
tions of  antiquities  elsewhere  absolutely  unrepresented. 
Here  will  be  found  the  best  treasures  from  the  buried 
towns  of  Cumse,  Herculaneum,  and  Pompeii.  The  his- 
tory of  nearly  a  thousand  years  may  be  read  in  this  vast 
necropolis  of  ancient  art. 

To  many,  however,  the  living  present  has  a  deeper  in- 
terest than  the  buried  past,  and  to  these  the  innumerable 


334  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

beautiful  excursions  round  Naples  will  prove  more  at- 
tractive  than  all  the  wealth  of  antiquities  in  the  Museum. 
Certainly,  from  a  purely  aesthetic  standpoint,  all  the  best 
things  in  Naples  are  out  of  it  if  the  bull  may  be  allowed. 
To  reach  Pozzuoli  and  the  classic  district  of  Baiae  and 
Cumae,  we  pass  along  the  fine  promenade  of  the  Villa 
Nazionale,  which  stretches  from  the  Castello  dell'  Ovo 
(the  Bastille  of  Naples)  to  the  Posilipo  promontory, 
commanding,  from  end  to  end,  superb  unobstructed  views 
of  the  Bay.  Capri,  the  central  point  of  the  prospect,  ap- 
pears to  change  its  form  from  day  to  day,  like  a  fairy 
island.  Sometimes,  on  a  cloudless  day,  the  fantastic  out- 
lines of  the  cliffs  stand  out  clearly  defined  against  the 
blue  sea  and  the  still  bluer  background  of  the  sky;  the 
houses  are  plainly  distinguished,  and  you  can  almost 
fancy  that  you  can  descry  the  groups  of  idlers  leaning 
over  the  parapet  of  the  little  piazza,  so  clear  is  the  atmos- 
phere. Sometimes  the  island  is  bathed  in  a  bluish  haze, 
and  by  a  curious  atmospheric  effect  a  novel  form  of 
Fata  Morgana  is  seen,  the  island,  appearing  to  be  lifted 
out  of  the  water  and  suspended  between  sea  and  sky. 

The  grounds  of  the  Villa  Nazionale  are  extensive,  and 
laid  out  with  taste,  but  are  disfigured  by  inferior  plaster 
copies,  colossal  in  size,  of  famous  antique  statues.  It 
is  strange  that  Naples,  while  possessing  some  of  the 
greatest  masterpieces  of  ancient  sculptors,  should  be 
satisfied  with  these  plastic  monstrosities  for  the  adorn- 
ment of  its  most  fashionable  promenade.  The  most  in- 
teresting feature  of  the  Villa  Nazionale  is  the  Aquarium. 
It  is  not  merely  a  show  place,  but  an  international  bio- 
logical station,  and,  in  fact,  the  portion  open  to  the  public 
consists  only  of  the  spare  tanks  of  the  laboratory.  This 


VIRGIL'S  TOMB  335 

institution  is  the  most  important  of  its  kind  in  Europe, 
and  is  supported  by  the  principal  European  Universities, 
who  each  pay  for  so  many  "  tab1es." 

At  the  entrance  to  the  tunneled  highway  known  as  the 
Grotto  di  Posilipo,  which  burrows  through  the  promon- 
tory that  forms  the  western  bulwark  of  Naples,  and 
serves  as  a  barrier  to  shut  out  the  noise  of  that  over- 
grown city,  is  a  columbarium  known  as  Virgil's  Tomb. 
The  guide-books,  with  their  superior  erudition,  speak 
rather  contemptuously  of  this  historic  spot  as  the  "  so- 
called  tomb  of  Virgil."  Yet  historical  evidence  seems  to 
point  to  the  truth  of  the  tradition  which  has  assigned 
this  spot  as  the  place  where  Virgil's  ashes  were  once 
placed.  A  visit  to  this  tomb  is  a  suitable  introduction  to 
the  neighborhood  of  which  Virgil  seems  to  be  the  tutelary 
genius.  Along  the  sunny  slopes  of  Posilipo  the  poet 
doubtless  occasionally  wended  his  way  to  the  villa  of 
Lucullus,  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  peninsula.  Leaving 
the  gloomy  grotto,  the  short  cut  to  Pozzuoli,  on  our 
right,  we  begin  to  mount  the  far-famed  "  Corniche  "  of 
Posilipo,  which  skirts  the  cliffs  of  the  promontory.  The 
road  at  first  passes  the  fashionable  Mergellina  suburb, 
fringed  by  an  almost  uninterrupted  series  of  villa  gar- 
dens. This  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  drives 
in  the  South  of  Europe.  Every  winding  discloses  views 
which  are  at  once  the  despair  and  the  delight  of  the 
painter.  At  every  turn  we  are  tempted  to  stop  and  feast 
the  eyes  on  the  glorious  prospect.  Perhaps  of  all  the 
fine  views  in  and  around  Naples,  that  from  the  Capo  di 
Posilipo  is  the  most  striking,  and  dwells  longest  in  the 
memory.  At  one's  feet  lies  Naples,  its  whitewashed 
houses  glittering  bright  in  the  flood  of  sunshine.  Beyond, 


336  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

across  the  deep  blue  waters  of  the  gulf,  Vesuvius,  the 
evil  genius  of  this  smiling  country,  arrests  the  eye,  from 
whose  summit,  like  a  halo, 

"  A  wreath  of  light  blue  vapor,  pure  and  rare, 

Mounts,  scarcely  seen  against  the  deep  blue  sky; 

...     It  forms,  dissolving  there, 
The  dome,  as  of  a  palace,  hung  on   Mgh 
Over  the  mountains." 

Portici,  Torre  del  Greco,  and  Torre  de.  '  Annunziata 
can  hardly  be  distinguished  in  this  densely  populated 
fringe  of  coast-line,  which  extends  from  Naples  to  Cas- 
tellamart'.  Sometimes  at  sunset  we  have  a  magnificent 
effect.  This  sea-wall  of  continuous  towns  and  villages 
lights  up  under  the  dying  rays  of  the  sun  like  glowing 
charcoal."  The  conflagration  appears  to  spread  to  Naples, 
and  the  huge  city  is  "  lit  up  like  Sodom,  as  if  fired  by 
some  superhuman  agency."  This  atmospheric  phenome- 
non may  remind  the  imaginative  spectator  of  the  dread 
possibilities  afforded  by  the  proximity  of  the  ever- 
threatening  volcano  towering  in  terrorem  over  the  thickly 
populated  plain.  There  is  a  certain  weird  charm  born 
of  impending  danger,  which  gives  the  whole  district  a 
pre-eminence  in  the  world  of  imagination.  It  has  passed 
through  its  baptism  of  fire ;  and  who  knows  how  soon 
"  the  dim  things  below  "  may  be  preparing  a  similar  fate 
for  a  city  so  rashly  situated?  These  dismal  reflections 
are,  however,  out  of  place  on  the  peaceful  slopes  of 
Posilipo,  whose  very  name  denotes  freedom  from  care. 

The  shores  of  this  promontory  are  thickly  strewed  with 
Roman  ruins,  which  are  seldom  explored  owing  to  their 
comparative  inaccessibility.  Most  of  the  remains,  thea- 


MONTE  NUOVO  337 

ters,  temples,  baths,  porticoes,  and  other  buildings,  whose 
use  or  nature  defies  the  learning  of  the  antiquary,  are 
thought  to  be  connected  with  the  extensive  villa  of  the 
notorious  epicure  Vedius  Polio.  Traces  of  the  fish-tanks 
for  the  eels,  which  Seneca  tells  us  were  fed  with  the  flesh 
of  disobedient  slaves,  are  still  visible.  Descending  the 
winding  gradients  of  Posilipo,  we  get  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  lovely  little  Bay  of  Pozzuoli.  The  view  is  curious 
and  striking.  So  deeply  and  sharply  indented  is  the 
coa'st,  and  so  narrow  and  tortuous  are  the  channels  that 
separate  the  islands  Ischia,  Procida,  and  Nisida,  that  it 
is  difficult  to  distinguish  the  mainland.  We  enjoy  a 
unique  panorama  of  land  and  sea,  islands,  bays,  straits, 
capes,  and  peninsulas  all  inextricably  intermingled. 

Continuing  our  journey  past  the  picturesque  town  of 
Pozzuoli,  its  semi-oriental  looking  houses  clustered  to- 
gether on  a  rocky  headland,  like  Monaco,  we  reach  the 
hallowed  ground  of  the  classical  student.  No  one  who 
has  read  his  Virgil  or  his  Horace  at  school  can  help 
being  struck  by  the  constant  succession  of  once  familiar 
nair.es  scattered  so  thickly  among  the  dry  bones  of  the 
guide-books.  The  district  between  Cumse  and  Pozzuoli 
is  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  classical  Italy,  and  "  there 
is  scarcely  a  spot  which  is  not  identified  with  the  poetical 
mythology  of  Greece,  or  associated  with  some  name  fa- 
miliar in  the  history  of  Rome."  Leaving  Pozzuoli,  we 
skirt  the  Phlegrsean  Fields,  which,  owing  to  their  malaria- 
haunted  situation,  still  retain  something  of  their  ancient  ' 
sinister  character.  This  tract  is,  however,  now  being 
drained  and  cultivated  a  good  deal.  That  huge  mound 
on  our  right,  looking  like  a  Celtic  sepulchral  barrow,  is 
Monte  Nuovo,  a  volcano,  as  its  name  denotes,  of  recent 
origin.  Geologically  speaking,  it  is  a  thing  of  yesterday, 


338  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

being  thrown  up  in  the  great  earthquake  of  September 
30th,  1538,  when,  as  Alexandre  Dumas  graphically  puts 
it,  "  One  morning  Pozzuoli  woke  up,  looked  around,  and 
could  not  recognize  its  position ;  where  had  been  the  night 
before  a  lake  was  now  a  mountain."  The  lake  referred 
to  is  Avernus,  a  name  familiar  to  all  through  the  vener- 
able and  invariably  misquoted  classical  tag,  facilis  descen- 
sus  Averni,  etc.  This  insignificant-looking  volcanic  mole- 
hill is  the  key  to  the  physical  geography  of  the  whole 
district.  Though  the  upheaval  of  Monte  Nuovo  has 
altered  the  configuration  of  the  country  round,  the  de- 
population of  this  deserted  but  fertile  country  is  due, 
not  to  the  crater,  but  to  the  malaria,  the  scourge  of  the 
coast.  The  scarcity  of  houses  on  the  western  horn  of 
the  Bay  of  Naples  is  very  marked,  especially  when  con- 
trasted with  the  densely  populated  sea-board  on  the  Cas- 
tellamare  side.  Leaving  Monte  Nuovo  we  come  to  a 
still  more  fertile  tract  of  country,  and  the  luxuriant 
vegetation  of  these  Avernine  hills  "  radiant  with  vines  " 
contrasts  pleasingly  with  the  gloomy  land  "  where  the 
dusky  nation  of  Cimmeria  dwells  "  of  the  poet.  The 
mythological  traditions  of  the  beautiful  plain  a  few  miles 
farther  on,  covered  with  vineyards  and  olive-groves  and 
bright  with  waving  corn-fields,  where  Virgil  has  placed 
the  Elysian  Fields,  seem  far  more  appropriate  to  the 
landscape  as  we  see  it.  Perhaps  a  sense  of  the  dramatic 
contrast  was  present  in  the  poet's  mind  when  he  placed 
the  Paradise  and  the  Inferno  of  the  ancients  so  near 
together. 

Quite  apart  from  the  charm  with  which  ancient  fable 
and  poetry  have  invested  this  district,  the  astonishing 
profusion  of  ruins  makes  it  especially  interesting  to  the 
antiquary.  A  single  morning's  walk  in  the  environs  of 


CAPRI  339 

Baiae  or  Cumse  will  reveal  countless  fragmentary  monu- 
ments of  antiquities  quite  outside  of  the  stock  ruins  of 
the  guide-books,  which  the  utilitarian  instincts  of  the 
country  people  only  partially  conceal,  Roman  tombs  serv- 
ing as  granaries  or  receptacles  for  garden  produce,  tem- 
ples affording,  stable-room  for  goats  and  donkeys,  am- 
phitheaters half-concealed  by  olive-orchards  or  orange- 
groves,  walls  of  ancient  villas  utilized  in  building  up  the 
terraced  vineyards;  and,  in  short,  the  trained  eye  of  an 
antiquary  would,  in  a  day's  walk,  detect  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity of  antique  material  almost  to  reconstruct  another 
Pompeii.  But  though  every  acre  of  this  antiquary's  para- 
dise teems  with  relics  of  the  past,  and  though  every  bay 
and  headland  is  crowded  with  memories  of  the  greatest 
names  in  Roman  history,  we  must  not  linger  in  this  su- 
premely interesting  district,  but  must  get  on  to  the  other 
beautiful  features  of  the  Gulf  of  Naples. 

Capri,  as  viewed  from  Naples,  is  the  most  attractive 
and  striking  feature  in  the  Bay.  There  is  a  kind  of  fas- 
cination about  this  rocky  island-garden  which  is  felt 
equally  by  the  callow  tourist  making  his  first  visit  to 
Italy,  and  by  the  seasoned  traveller  who  knew  Capri  when 
it  was  the  center  of  an  art  colony  as  well  known  as  is 
that  of  Newlyn  at  the  present,  day.  No  doubt  Capri  is 
now  considered  by  super-sensitive  people  to  be  as  hope- 
lessly vulgarized  and  hackneyed  as  the  Isle  of  Man  or 
the  Channel  Isles,  now  that  it  has  become  the  favorite 
picknicking  ground  of  shoals  of  Neapolitan  excursionists ; 
but  that  is  the  fate  of  most  of  the  beautiful  scenery 
in  the  South  of  Europe,  if  at  all  easy  of  access.  These 
fastidious  minds  may,  however,  find  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  to  the  noisy  excursionists,  daily  carried  to 
and  from  Naples  by  puffing  little  cockle-shell  steamers, 


340  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

the  greater  part  of  the  island  will  always  remain  an  un- 
discovered country.  They  may  swarm  up  the  famous 
steps  of  Anacapri,  and  even  penetrate  into  the  Blue 
Grotto,  but  they  do  not,  as  a  rule,  carry  the  spirit  of 
geographical  research  farther. 

The  slight  annoyance  caused  by  the  great  crowds  is 
amply  compensated  for  by  the  beauties  of  the  extraor- 
dinarily grand  scenery  which  is  to  be  found  within  the 
island  desecrated  by  memories  of  that  "  deified  beast 
Tiberius,"  as  Dickens  calls  him.  What  constitutes  the 
chief  charm  of  the  natural  features  of  Capri  are  the  sharp 
contrasts  and  the  astonishing  variety  in  the  scenery. 
Rugged  precipices,  in  height  exceeding  the  cliffs  of  Tin- 
tagel,  and  in  beauty  and  boldness  of  outline  surpassing- 
the  crags  of  the  grandest  Norwegian  fiords,  wall  in  a 
green  and  fertile  garden-land  covered  with  orange- 
orchards,  olive-groves,  and  corn-fields.  Cruising  round 
this  rock-bound  and  apparently  inaccessible  island,  it 
seems  a  natural  impregnable  fortress,  a  sea-girt  Gibral- 
tar guarding  the  entrance  of  the  gulf,  girdled  round  with 
precipitous  crags  rising  a  thousand  feet  sheer  out  of  the 
sea,  the  cliff  outline  broken  by  steep  ravines  and  rocky 
headlands,  with  outworks  of  crags,  reefs,  and  Titanic 
masses  of  tumbled  rocks. 

These  physical  contrasts  are  strikingly  paralleled  in 
the  history  of  the  island.  This  little  speck  on  the  earth's 
surface,  now  given  up  solely  to  fishing,  pastoral  pursuits, 
and  the  exploitation  of  tourists,  and  as  little  affected  by 
public  affairs  as  if  it  were  in  the  midst  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, instead  of  being  almost  within  cannon-shot  of  the 
metropolis  of  South  Italy,  has  passed  through  many 
vicissitudes,  conquered  in  turn  by  Phoenicians.  Greeks, 
and  Romans ;  under  Rome  little  known  and  used  merely 


TIBERIUS  341 

as  a  lighthouse  station  for  the  benefit  of  the  corn-galleys 
plying  from  Sicily  to  Naples,  till  the  old  Emperor  Au- 
gustus took  a  fancy  to  it,  and  used  it  as  a  sanatorium 
for  his.  declining  years.  Some  years  later  we  find  this 
isolated  rock  in  the  occupation  of  the  infamous  Tiberius, 
as  the  seat  of  government  from  which  he  ruled  the  des- 
tinies of  the  whole  empire.  Then,  to  run  rapidly  through 
succeeding  centuries,  we  find  Capri,  after  the  fall  of 
Rome,  sharing  in  the  fortunes  and  misfortunes  of  Naples, 
and  losing  all  historic  individuality  till  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century,  when  the  Neapolitan  Gibraltar  be- 
came a  political  shuttlecock,  Bossed  about  in  turn  between 
Naples,  England,  and  France ;  and  now  it  complacently 
accepts  the  destiny  Nature  evidently  marked  out  for  it, 
and  has  become  the  sanatorium  of  Naples,  and  the  Mecca 
of  artists  and  lovers  of  the  picturesque. 

One  cannot  be  many  hours  in  Capri  without  being 
reminded  of  its  tutelary  genius  Tiberius.  In  fact  as  Mr. 
A.  J.  Symonds  has  forcibly  expressed  it,  "  the  hoof-print 
of  illustrious  crime  is  stamped  upon  the  island."  All 
the  religio  loci,  if  such  a  phrase  is  permissible  in  connec- 
tion with  Tiberius,  seems  centered  in  this  unsavoury  per- 
sonality. We  cannot  get  away  from  him.  His  palaces 
and  villas  seem  to  occupy  every  prominent  point  in  the 
island.  Even  the  treasure-trove  of  the  antiquary  bears 
undying  witness  to  his  vices,  and  shows  that  Suetonius, 
in  spite  of  recent  attempts  to  whitewash  the  Emperor's 
memory,  did  not  trust  to  mere  legends  and  fables  for  his 
biography.  Even  the  most  ardent  students  of  Roman 
history  would  surely  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  this  forbidding 
spectre  that  forces  itself  so  persistently  on  their  atten- 
tion. To  judge  by  the  way  in  which  the  simple  Capriotes 
seek  to  perpetuate  the  name  of  their  illustrious  patron, 


342  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

one  might  almost  suppose  that  the  Emperor,  whose  name 
is  proverbial  as  a  personification  of  crime  and  vice,  had 
gone  through  some  process  akin  to  canonization. 

Capri,  though  still  famous  for  beautiful  women,  »whose 
classic  features,  statuesque  forms,  and  graceful  carriage, 
recall  the  Helens  and  the  Aphrodites  of  the  Capitol  and 
Vatican,  and  seem  to  invite  transfer  to  the  painter's  can- 
vas, can  no  longer  be  called  the  "  artist's  paradise."  The 
pristine  simplicity  of  these  Grecian-featured  daughters 
of  the  island,  which  made  them  invaluable  as  models,  is 
now  to  a  great  extent  lost.  The  march  of  civilization 
has  imbued  them  with  the  commercial  instinct,  and  they 
now  fully  appreciate  their  artistic  value.  No  casual  hap- 
hazard sketches  of  a  picturesque  group  of  peasant  girls, 
pleased  to  be  of  service  to  a  stranger,  no  impromptu  por- 
traiture of  a  little  Capriote  fisher-boy,  is  now  possible. 
It  has  become  a  "  sitting  "  for  a  consideration,  just  as 
if  it  took  place  in  an  ordinary  Paris  atelier  or  a  Rome 
studio.  The  idea  that  the  tourist  is  a  gift  of  Providence, 
sent  for  their  especial  benefit,  to  be  looked  at  in  the  same 
light  as  are  the  "  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth/'  recalls  to 
our  mind  the  quaint  old  Indian  myth  of  Mondamin,  the 
beautiful  stranger,  with  his  garments  green  and  yellow, 
from  whose  dead  body  sprang  up  the  small  green  feath- 
ers, afterwards  to  be  known  as  maize.  However,  the 
Capriotes  turn  their  visitors  to  better  account  than  that; 
in  fact,  their  eminently  practical  notions  on  the  point  ap- 
pear to  gain  ground  in  this  once  unsophisticated  coun- 
try, while  the  recognized  methods  of  agriculture  remain 
almost  stationary.  The  appearance  of  a  visitor  armed 
with  sketch-book  or  camera  is  now  the  signal  for  every 
male  and  female  Capriote  within  range  to  pose  in  forced 


THE  BLUE  GROTTO  343 

and  would-be  graceful  attitudes,  or  to  arrange  them- 
selves in  unnatural  conventional  groups:  aged  crones 
sprout  up,  as  if  by  magic,  on  every  doorstep ;  male  loung- 
ers "  lean  airily  on  posts  "  ;  while  at  all  points  of  the 
compass  bashful  maidens  hover  around,  each  balancing 
on  her  head  the  indispensable  water-jar.  These  vul- 
garizing tendencies  explain  why  it  is  that  painters  are 
now  beginning  to  desert  Capri. 

But  we  are  forgetting  the  great  boast  of  Capri,  the 
Blue  Grotto.  Everyone  has  heard  of  this  famous  cave, 
the  beauties  of  which  have  been  described  by  Mr.  A. 
J.  Symonds  in  the  following  graphic  and  glowing  pic- 
ture in  prose :  Entering  the  crevice-like  portal,  "  you 
find  yourself  transported  to  a  world  of  wavering,  suba- 
queous sheen.  The  grotto  is  domed  in  many  chambers ; 
and  the  water  is  so  clear  that  you  can  see  the  bottom, 
silvery,  with  black-finned  fishes  diapered  upon  the  blue- 
white  sand.  The  flesh  of  a  diver  hi  this  water  showed 
like  the  face  of  children  playing  at  snap-dragon;  all 
around  him  the  spray  leaped  up  with  living  fi're;  and 
when  the  oars  struck  the  surface,  it  was  as  though  a 
phosphorescent  sea  had  been  smitten,  and  the  drops  ran 
from  the  blades  in  blue  pearls."  It  must,  however,  be 
remembered  that  these  marvels  can  only  be  perfectly 
seen  on  a  clear  and  sunny  day,  and  when,  too,  the  sun 
is  high  in  the  sky.  Given  these  favorable  conditions, 
the  least  impressionable  must  feel  the  magic  of  the  scene, 
and  enjoy  the  shifting  brilliancy  of  light  and  color.  The 
spectators  seem  bathed  in  liquid  sapphire,  and  the  sen- 
sation of  being  enclosed  in  a  gem  is  strange  .indeed.  But 
we  certainly  shall  not  experience  any  such  sensation  if 
we  explore  this  lovely  grotto  in  the  company  of  the 


344  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

noisy  and  excited  tourists  who  daily  arrive  in  shoals  by 
the  Naples  steamer.  To  appreciate  its  beauties  the  cave 
must  be  visited  alone  and  at  leisure. 

Those  who  complain  of  the  village  of  Capri  being  so 
sadly  modernized  and  tourist-ridden  will  find  at  Anacapri 
some  of  that  Arcadian  simplicity  they  are  seeking,  for  the 
destroying  (aesthetically  speaking)  fingers  of  progress 
and  civilization  have  hardly  touched  this  secluded  moun- 
tain village,  though  scarcely  an  hour's  walk  from  the 
"  capital  "  of  the  island. 

We  will,  of  course,  take  the  famous  steps,  and  ignore 
the  excellently  engineered  high-road  that  winds  round 
the  cliffs,  green  with  arbutus  and  myrtle,  in  serpentine 
gradients,  looking  from  the  heights  above  mere  loops  of 
white  ribbon.  Anacapri  is  delightfully  situated  in  a 
richly  cultivated  table-land,  at  the  foot  of  Monte  Solaro. 
Climbing  the  slopes  of  the  mountain,  we  soon  reach  the 
Hermitage,  where  we  have  a  fine  bird's-eye  view  of  the 
island,  with  Anacapri  spread  out  at  our  feet,  and  the 
town  of  Capri  clinging  to  the  hillsides  on  our  right.  But 
a  far  grander  view  rewards  our  final  climb  to  the  summit. 
We  can  see  clearly  outlined  every  beautiful  feature  of 
the  Bay  of  Naples,  with  its  magnificent  coast-line  from 
Misenum  to  Sorrento  in  prominent  relief  almost  at  our 
feet,  and  raising  our  eyes  landwards  we  can  see  the 
Campanian  Plain  till  it  is  merged  in  the  purple  haze  of 
the  Apennines.  To  the  south  the  broad  expanse  of  water 
stretches  away  to  the  far  horizon,  and  to  the  right  this 
incomparable  prospect  is  bounded  by  that  "  enchanted 
land  "  where 


"  Sweeps  the  blue  Salernian  bay, 
With  its  sickle  of  white  sand." 


SORRENTO  345 

and  on  a  very  clear  day  we  can  faintly  discern  a  purple, 
jagged  outline,  which  shows  where  "  Psestum  and  its 
ruins  lie." 

In  spite  of  the  undeniable  beauties  of  Capri,  it  seems 
so  given  up  to  artists  and  amateur  photographers  that 
it  is  a  relief  to  get  away  to  a  district  not  quite  so  well 
known.  We  have  left  to  the  last,  as  a  fitting  climax,  the 
most  beautiful  bit  of  country,  not  only  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Naples,  but  in  the  whole  of  South  Italy.  The 
coast-road  from  Castellamare  to  Sorrento,  Positano,  and 
Amalfi  offers  a  delightful  alternation  and  combination 
of  the  softest  idyllic  scenery  with  the  wildest  and  most 
magnificent  mountain  and  crag  landscape.  In  fact,  it  is 
necessary  to  excise  some  self-restraint  in  language  and  to 
curb  a  temptation  to  rhapsodize  when  describing  this 
beautiful  region.  The  drive  from  Naples  to  Castellamare 
is  almost  one  continuous  suburb,  and  the  change  from  this 
monotonous  succession  of  streets  of  commonplace  houses 
to  the  beautiful  country  we  reach  soon  after  leaving 
the  volcanic  district  at  Castellamare  is  very  marked.  In 
the  course  of  our  journey  we  cannot  help  noticing  the 
bright  yellow  patches  of  color  on  the  beach  and  the 
flat  house-tops.  This  is  the  wheat  used  for  the  manu- 
facture of  macaroni,  of  which  Torre  dell'  Annunziata  is 
the  great  center.  All  along  the  road  the  houses,  too,  have 
their  loggias  and  balconies  festooned  with  the  strips  of 
finished  macaroni  spread  out  to  dry.  All  this  lights  up 
the  dismal  prospect  of  apparently  never-ending  buildings, 
and  gives  a  literally  local  color  to  the  district.  There 
is  not  much  to  delay  the  traveller  in  Castellamare,  and 
soon  after  leaving  the  overcrowded  and  rather  evil-smell- 
ing town  we  enter  upon  the  beautiful  coast-road  to  Sor- 
rento. For  the  first  few  miles  the  road  runs  near  the 


346  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

shore,  sometimes  almost  overhanging  the  sea.  We  soon 
get  a  view  of  Vico,  picturesquely  situated  on  a  rocky 
eminence.  The  scenery  gets  bolder  as  we  climb  the 
Punta  di  Scutola.  From  this  promontory  we  get  the 
first  glimpse  of  the  beautiful  Piano  di  Sorrento.  It  looks 
like  one  vast  garden,  so  thickly  is  it  covered  with  vine- 
yards, olive  groves,  and  orange  and  lemon  orchards, 
with  an  occasional  aloe  and  palm  tree  to  give  an  Oriental 
touch  to  the  landscape.  The  bird's-eye  view  from  the 
promontory  gives  the  spectator  a  general  impression  of 
a  carpet,  in  which  the  prevailing  tones  of  color  are  the 
richest  greens  and  gold.  Descending  to  this  fertile 
plateau,  we  find  a  delightful  blending  of  the  sterner 
elements  of  the  picturesque  with  the  pastoral  and  idyllic. 
The  plain  is  intersected  with  romantic,  craggy  ravines 
and  precipitous,  tortuous  gorges,  resembling  the  ancient 
stone  quarries  of  Syracuse,  their  rugged  sides  covered 
with  olives,  wild  vines,  aloes,  and  Indian  figs.  The 
road  to  Amalfi  here  leaves  the  sea  and  is  carried  through 
the  heart  of  this  rich  and  fertile  region,  and  about  three 
miles  from  Sorrento  it  begins  to  climb  the  little  moun- 
tain range  which  separates  the  Sorrento  plain  from  the 
Bay  of  Salerno. 

We  can  hardly,  however,  leave  the  level  little  town, 
consecrated  to  memories  of  Tasso,  unvisited.  Its  flowers 
and  its  gardens,  next  to  its  picturesque  situation,  con- 
stitute the  great  charm  of  Sorrento.  It  seems  a  kind  of 
garden-picture,  its  peaceful  and  smiling  aspect  contrast- 
ing strangely  with  its  bold  and  stern  situation.  Cut 
off,  a  natural  fortress,  from  the  rest  of  the  peninsula  by 
precipitous  gorges,  like  Constantine  in  Algeria,  while  its 
sea-front  consists  of  a  precipice  descending  sheer  to  the 
water's  edge,  no  wonder  that  it  invites  comparison  with 


AMALFI  AND  SALERNO  347 

such  dissimilar  towns  as  Grasse,  Monaco,  Amalfi  and 
Constantine,  according  to  the  aspect  which  first  strikes 
the  visitor.  After  seeing  Sorrento,  with  its  astonishing 
wealth  of  flowers,  the  garden  walls  overflowing  with 
cataracts  of  roses,  and  the  scent  of  acacias,  orange  and 
lemon  flowers  pervading  everything,  we  begin  to  think 
that,  in  comparing  the  outlying  plain  of  Sorrento  to  a 
flower-garden,  we  have  been  too  precipitate.  Compared 
with  Sorrento  itself,  the  plain  is  but  a  great  orchard  or 
market-garden.  Sorrento  is  the  real  flower-garden,  a 
miniature  Florence,  "  the  village  of  flowers  and  the  - 
flower  of  villages.'' 

We  leave  Sorrento  and  its  gardens  and  continue  our 
excursion  to  Amalfi  and  Salerno.  After  reaching  the 
point  at  the  summit  of  the  Colline  del  Piano,  whence 
we  get  our  first  view  of  the  famous  Isles  of  the 
Syrens,  looking  far  more  picturesque  than  in- 
viting, with  their  sharp,  jagged  outline,  we  come 
in  sight  of  a  magnificent  stretch  of  cliff  and 
mountain  scenery.  The  limestone  precipices  extend 
uninterruptedly  for  miles,  their  outline  broken  by  a  series 
of  stupendous  pinnacles,  turrets,  obelisks,  and  pyramids 
cutting  sharply  into  the  blue  sky-line.  The  scenery, 
though  so  wild  and  bold  is  not  bleak  and  dismal.  The 
bases  of  these  towering  precipices  are  covered  with  a 
wild  tangle  of  myrtle,  arbutus,  and  tamarisk,  and  wild 
vines  and  prickly  pears  have  taken  root  in  the  ledges  and 
crevices.  The  ravines  and  gorges  which  relieve  the  uni- 
formity of  this  great  sea-wall  of  cliff  have  their  lowrer 
slopes  covered  with  terraced  and  trellised  orchards  of 
lemons  and  oranges,  an  irregular  mass  of  green  and  gold. 
Positano,  after  Amalfi,  is  certainly  the  most  picturesque 
place  on  these  shores,  and,  being  less  known,  and  con- 


348  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

sequently  not  so  much  reproduced  in  idealized  sketches 
and  "touched  up  "  photographs  as  Amain,  its  first  view 
must  come  upon  the  traveller  rather  as  a  delightful  sur- 
prise. Its  situation  is  curious.  The  town  is  built  along 
each  side  of  a  huge  ravine,  cut  off  from  access  landwards 
by  an  immense  wall  of  precipices.  The  houses  climb  the 
craggy  slopes  in  an  irregular  ampitheater,  at  every  va- 
riety of  elevation  and  level,  and  the  views  from  the 
heights  above  give  a  general  effect  of  a  cataract  of  houses 
having  been  poured  down  each  side  of  the  gorge.  After 
a  few  miles  of  the  grandest  cliff  and  mountain  scenery 
we  reach  the  Capo  di  Conca,  which  juts  out  into  the  bay, 
dividing  it  into  two  crescents.  Looking  west,  we  see  a 
broad  stretch  of  mountainous  country,  where 

" A  few  white  villages 

Scattered  above,  below,  some  in  the  clouds, 
Some  on  the  margins  of  the  dark  blue  sea, 
And  glittering  through  their  lemon  groves,  announce 
The  region  of  Amalfi." 

To  attempt  to  describe  Amalfi  seems  a  hopeless  task. 
The  churches,  towers,  and  arcaded  houses,  scattered 
about  in  picturesque  confusion  on  each  side  of  the  gigan- 
tic gorge  which  cleaves  the  precipitous  mountain,  gay 
with  the  rich  coloring  of  Italian  domestic  architecture, 
make  up  an  indescribably  picturesque  medley  of  loggias, 
arcades,  balconies,  domes,  and  cupolas,  relieved  by  flat, 
whitewashed  roofs.  The  play  of  color  produced  by  the 
dazzling  glare  of  the  sun  and  the  azure  amplitude  of  sea 
and  sky  gives  that  general  effect  of  light,  color,  sun- 
shine, and  warmth  of  atmosphere  which  is  so  hard  to 
portray,  either  with  the  brush  or  the  pen.  Every  nook 
of  this  charming  little  rock-bound  Eden  affords  tempting 


P^STUM  349 

material  for  the  artist,  and  the  whole  region  is  rich  in 
scenes  suggestive  of  poetical  ideas. 

When  we  look  at  the  isolated  position  of  this  once 
famous  city,  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  Italy  by  a  bul- 
wark of  precipices,  in  places  so  overhanging  the  town 
that  they  seem  to  dispute  its  possession  with  the  tideless 
sea  which  washes  the  walls  of  the  houses,  it  is  not  easy 
to  realize  that  it  was  recognized  in  mediaeval  times  as  the 
first  naval  Power  in  Europe,  owning  factories  and  trading 
establishments  in  all  the  chief  cities  of  the  Levant,  and 
producing  a  code  of  maritime  laws  whose  leading  princi- 
ples have  been  incorporated  in  modern  international  law. 
No  traces  remain  of  the  city's  ancient  grandeur,  and  the 
visitor  is  tempted  to  look  upon  the  history  of  its  former 
greatness  as  purely  legendary. 

The  road  to  Salerno  is  picturesque,  but  not  so  striking 
as  that  between  Positano  and  Amalfi.  It  is  not  so  dar- 
ingly engineered,  and  the  scenery  is  tamer.  Vietri  is  the 
most  interesting  stopping-place.  It  is  beautifully  situ- 
ated at  the  entrance  to  the  gorge-like  valley  which  leads 
to  what  has  been  called  the  "  Italian  Switzerland,"  and 
is  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  lemon  and  orange  orchards. 
Salerno  will  not  probably  detain  the  visitor  long,  and,  in 
fact,  the  town  is  chiefly  known  to  travellers  as  the  start- 
ing-place for  the  famous  ruins  of  Paestum. 

These  temples,  after  those  of  Athens,  are  the  best 
preserved,  and  certainly  the  most  accessible,  of  any  Greek 
ruins  in  Europe,  and  are  a  lasting  witness  to  the 
splendor  of  the  ancient  Greek  colony  of  Poseidonia 
(Paestum).  " Non  cuivis  homini  contingit  adire  Corin- 
thum,"  says  the  poet,  and  certainly  a  visit  to  these  beau- 
tiful ruins  will  make  one  less  regret  the  inability  to  visit 
the  Athenian  Parthenon.  Though  the  situation  of  the 


550  THE  MEDITERRANEAN 

Psestum  Temple  lacks  the  picturesque  irregularity  of  the 
Acropolis,  and  the  Temple  of  Girgenti  in  Sicily,  these 
ruins  will  probably  impress  the  imaginative  spectator 
more.  Their  isolated  and  desolate  position  in  the  midst 
of  this  wild  and  abandoned  plain,  without  a  vestige  of 
any  building  near,  suggest  an  almost  supernatural  origin, 
arid  give  a  weird  touch  to  this  scene  of  lonely  and  ma- 
jestic grandeur.  There  seems  a  dramatic  contrast  in 
bringing  to  an  end  at  the  solemn  Temples  of  Psestum 
our  excursion  in  and  around  Naples.  We  began  with  the 
noise,  bustle,  and  teeming  life  of  a  great  twentieth- 
century  city,  and  we  have  gone  back  some  twenty-five 
centuries  to  the  long-buried  glory  of  Greek  civilization. 


INDEX 


Aboukir,  and  Nelson's  victory, 
253-255 

About,  Edmond,  on  the  im- 
portance of  Marseilles,  95 

Abruzzi  Mountains,  326 

Aba-Abul-Hajez,  builder  of 
Moorish  Castle,  Gibraltar,  15 

Abyla,  Phoenician  name  of 
Ceuta,  26 

Aci  Castello,  300 

Aci  Reale,  300 

Acis  and  Galatea,  300 

^Eneas  and  the  games  at 
Trapani,  318 

Africa,  "  Crystal  atmosphere  " 
of,  5 

Agate  Cape,  57 

Agay,  148 

Agnone,  302 

Alameda  Gardens,  Gibraltar,  13 

Alassio,  159 

Alban,  Mont,  143 

Alcantara,  Valley  of  the,  300 

Alexander  the  Great,  founding 
Alexandria,  237 

Alexandria,  96 ;  appearance 
from  the  sea,  235;  historical 
interest,  236 ;  Alexander's 
choice  of  the  site,  237;  har- 


bor, 238;  main  street,  240; 
Grand  Square,  241 ;  Palace 
of  Ras-et-teen,  243 ;  view 
from  Mount  Caffarelli  and 
the  Delta,  244;  Pompey's 
Pillar,  246;  Library,  247; 
the  Serapeum,  cemeteries, 
mosques,  Coptic  convent,  and 
historic  landmarks,  248;  de- 
feat of  Antony,  and  Napo- 
leon, 251 ;  Ramleh,  251 ; 
Temple  of  Arsenoe,  252; 
Aboukir  Bay  and  Nelson, 
253,  254;  Rosetta,  Haroun 
Al  Rashid,  and  the  English 
expedition  of  1807,  256 ;  fer- 
tility of  the  Delta,  258 ;  Cairo 
and  the  rising  of  the  Nile, 
260 ;  Damietta,  261 ;  Port 
Said,  261,  262;  ruins  of  Pelu- 
sium,  263 ;  Suez  Canal  and 
M.  de  Lesseps,  264 

Algeciras,  4,  23,  24 

Algeria,  78,  97 

Algiers,  96,  123 ;  "  a  pearl  set 
in  emeralds,"  28;  the  ap- 
proach to,  and  the  Djurjura, 
29 ;  the  Sahel,  Atlas,  and  the 
ancient  and  modern  towns, 
30;  cathedral  and  mosque, 
31 ;  tortuous  plan  of  the  new 


351 


352 


INDEX 


town,  33,  34;  Mustapha  Su- 
perieur,  and  English  colony, 
35,  37;  a  Moorish  villa,  38; 
view  from  El  Biar,  Arab 
cemetery,  and  idolatry,  39; 
superstitions  and  climate,  41 

Alhendin,  59 

AH,  Mehemet,  239;  his  works 
in  Alexandria,  241,  242;  de- 
stroys English  troops  at  Ros- 
etta,  257 

Almeria,  55,  56,  57 

Alps,  The,  131 ;  the  Julian,  147, 
148,  154 

Alpuj  arras,  The,  44,  55 

Altinum,  231 

Amalfi,  345,  347,  349 

Amru,  236 

Amsterdam  and  its  canals,  219 

Anacapri,  344 

Anchises,  318 

Andre,  St.,  139,  143 

Angelo,  Michael,  and  the  mar- 
ble quarries  at  Seravezza,  197 

Ansedonia,  211 

Antibes,  96,  147,  151,  152 

Antipolis,  151 

Antony,  Mark,  defeated  by  Oc- 
tavius  at  Mustapha  Pacha, 

251 
Apes'  Hill,  English  designation 

of  Ceuta,  26 

Aquae  Sextiae,  or  Aix,  Roman 
colony  on  the  site  of  Mar- 
seilles, 109 

Arabic  legend  and  the  Moorish 
Castle,  Gibraltar,  15 

Aragon,  Kings  of,  Palace  of 
the,  at  Barcelona,  67,  83 


Arbiter,  Petronius,  122 

Aristophanes,  and  the  sausage- 
seller,  148 

Aries,  no 

Arsenoe,  Temple  of,  and  the 
story  related  by  Catullus, 
252 

Aryan  Achaeans,  108 

Aryan  and  Semite  struggle 
against  Christianity  and  Mo- 
hammedanism, 4 

Athanasius  at  Alexandria,  236 

Athens,  96 

Atlantic,  Ideas  of  ancient 
Greeks  respecting  the,  2 

Atlas,  Mount,  29 

Attard,  "  village  of  roses,"  291 

Attila,  233 

Augustine,  St.,  and  the  angel, 
213 ;  at  St.  Honorat,  150 

Augustus,  and  Turbia,  153 

Autran,  Joseph,  122 

Avenza,  195 

Avernus,  338 

Avignon,  96 


B 


Bab-el- Sok,  gate  of  the  market- 
place at  Tangier,  6 

Baise,  339 

Balzac,  witty  remark  on  din- 
ners in  Paris,  89 

Balzan,  291 

Barbaroux,  122 

Barcelona,  21,  95,  123;  eulogy 
of  Cervantes,  the  prome- 
nades and  the  people,  61 ; 


INDEX 


353 


funerals,  and  the  flower-mar- 
ket, 62;  streets,  Rambla,  and 
cathedral,  65  ;  Palais  de  Jus- 
tice, and  Parliament  House, 
66;  Palace  of  the  kings  of 
Aragon,  67;  museum,  park, 
and  monuments  to  Prim  and 
Columbus,  69 ;  bird's-eye 
view,  Fort  of  Montjuich, 
Mont  Tibidaho,  70;  cemetery 
and  mode  of  burial,  71 ;  fes- 
tival of  All  Saints,  72 ;  Cata- 
lonia, and  the  church  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Mar,  74 ; 
organ  in  cathedral,  and  the 
suburbs,  77;  Gracia,  77; 
Sarria,  78;  Barceloneta,  79; 
Academy  of  Arts,  schools, 
music,  the  University,  and 
workmen's  clubs,  So;  Arch- 
aeological Society,  primary 
education,  and  places  of 
amusement,  82;  history  of, 
83 ;  trade,  healthful  properties, 
and  charitable  institutions, 
84;  churches,  convents,  elec- 
tric lighting,  population,  and 
Protestantism,  86 ;  democ- 
racy, and  holidays  of,  87 ; 
Mariolatry,  88 ;  Caballaro, 
89;  climate,  90;  hotels,  90; 
good  looks  of  the  men  and 
women,  the  police,  92;  pro- 
gressive tendencies,  the  post- 
office  and  passports,  93 

Barco,  Hamilcar,  founder  of 
Barcelona,  82 

Barral  des  Baux,  121 

Barthelemy,  122 


Baths  of  Barcelona,  90;  of 
Cleopatra,  250 ;  of  Caratraca, 

44 

Bay  of  Biscay,  I 
"  Belgium  of  the   East,"   The, 

251 

Bellet,  Le,  139 

Belzunce,  Monseigneur,  and  the 
plague  at  Marseilles,  113, 
114 

Bentinck,  Lord  W.,  and  his  at- 
tack on  Genoa,  166 

Berenger,  122 

Berenice,  and  the  Temple  of 
Arsenoe,  252 

Bighi,  288 

Boabdil,  last  king  of  Granada, 

59 
Boccaccio,  and  the  church  of  St. 

Lorenzo,  Naples,  232 
Bordighera,  158 
Boron,  Mont,  125 
Bouchard,  M.,  and  the  Egyptian 

stone  at  Rosetta,  257 
Britain,   and   Tangier,   4;    and 

the  acquisition  of  Gibraltar, 

22 

Browning,  Robert,  and  Gibral- 
tar, 6 
Brueys,   Admiral,   defeated  by 

Nelson  at  Aboukir  Bay,  254 
Buena  Vista,  Gibraltar,  14,  23 
Bull-fights  at  Barcelona,  82,  87 ; 

at  Malaga,  54 
Burgundians,  The,  109 
Burmola,  289 
Byng,    Rear-Admiral,    and  the 

siege  of  Gibraltar,  22 


354 


INDEX 


Cabo  de  Bullones,  Spanish 
name  of  Ceuta,  26 

Cadiz  Bay,  6 

Cafe  at  Gibraltar,  n 

Cagliari,  96 

Cairo,  258;  rising  of  the  Nile, 
260 

Cala  Dueira,  271 

Calpe,  Rock  of  (Gibraltar),  2, 
14 

Camaldoli  hills,  326 

Campyses,  at  Pelusium,  262 

Canal,  Grand,  at  Venice,  222- 
228 

Cannes,  125,  130;  "a  Babel  set 
in  Paradise,"  150;  principal 
streets,  and  origin,  151 ;  forti- 
fications of  Vauban,  and  Ro- 
man remains,  152 

Capraja,  207 

Capri,  326;  changes  in  appear- 
ance, 334;  its  fascination, 
339;  historical  associations, 
340;  palaces  of  Tiberias, 
341 ;  its  beautiful  women, 
342;  Blue  Grotto,  343 

Carabacel,   127,  138 

Caratraca,  Baths  of,  44,  50 

Carinthia,   Dukes  of,  233 

Carlos,  Don,  and  the  rising  in 
Barcelona,  84 

Carnival  at  Nice,  133 

Carqueyranne,  147 

Carrara,  church  of  St.  Andrea, 
and  the  marble  quarries,  196; 
mosquitos,  197 

Cartama,  51 


Carthagenians,  and  Genoa,  162; 
destruction  of  Selinus,  319 

Casal  Curmi,  291 

Casal  Nadur,  273 

Cassian,  St.,  and  the  monastery 
of  St.  Victor,  Marseilles,  1 16 

Castellaccio,  Fort  of,  297 

Castellamare,  345 

Castiglione  della  Pescaia,  209 

Castile,  25 

Castle,  Moorish,  at  Gibraltar, 
15 

Catacombs  at  Alexandria,  249 

Catania,  302 

Cathedral,  at  Gibraltar,  13;  at 
Marseilles,  98;  at  Genoa,  80; 
at  Barcelona,  65;  at  Nice, 
129;  at  Almeria,  57;  at  Al- 
giers, 31;  at  Pisa,  194;  St. 
Mark's,  Venice,  224-226 

Catullus,  and  his  story  relating 
to  the  temple  of  Arsenoe,  252 

Cemetery  at  Alexandria,  248 

Cervantes,  eulogium  on  Bar- 
celona, 61 

Ceuta,  17;  origin  of  name  and 
history  of,  25  ;  main  features 
of,  26;  ancient  names,  and 
shape  of  rock,  26 

Champollion,  M.,  and  the  Egyp- 
tian stone  at  Rosetta,  258 

Charles  Albert,  King  of  Sar- 
dinia, and  his  palace  at 
Genoa,  172 

"  Charles  III.,  King,"  21,  22 

Charles  V.,  20 

Chateau  d'lf,  105 

Chiavari,  186 

Chioggia,  230 


INDEX 


355 


Cholera,  The,  at  Marseilles,  112 

Cimiez,  127,  138;  monastery 
and  amphitheatre  of,  139,  142 

Civita  Vecchia,  its  founder  and 
history,  213 

Cleopatra,  and  Antony,  at  Alex- 
andria, 236;  Baths  of,  at 
Alexandria,  250 

Cleopatra's  Needle,  246 

Columbus,  Monument  to,  at 
Genoa,  177;  monument  at 
Barcelona,  69;  his  reception 
at  Barcelona  by  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,  69,  83 

Cominetto,  270 

Comino,  268,  272 

Concha,  General,  and  the  sugar- 
cane industry  of  Malaga,  51 

Constantinople,  95 

Contes,  139 

Convent,  Coptic,  at  Alexandria, 
248 

Coneto,  "  lifts  to  heaven  a 
diadem  of  towers,"  212; 
churches,  Etruscan  and  Ro- 
man antiquities,  and  origin, 
213 

Cornigliano,  147 

Corno,  Remains  of,  212 

Corradino,  288 

Cosspicua,  289 

Cremation  suggested  for  adop- 
tion in  Barcelona,  71 

Cressy,  Battle  of,  179 

Cumae,  333,  339 

Cyclops,  The,  and  the  Scogli 
dei  Ciclopi,  301 

Cyrus,  94 


Damanhour,  258 

Damietta,  261 

Darby,  Admiral,  and  the  siege 
of  Gibraltar,  18 

Delord,  Taxile,  122 

Delta,  Egyptian,  Fertility  of 
the,  258 

Djama-el-Kebir,  Mosque  at 
Tangier  of  the,  6 

Djurjura,  The,  29 

Don,  General,  and  the  Alameda 
Gardens,  Gibraltar,  13 

Doria,  Andrea,  and  his  influ- 
ence in  Genoa,  164,  173;  in- 
cidents in  his  life,  176 

Drinkwater,  Captain  John,  and 
the  siege  of  Gibraltar,  18 

Dumas,  Alexandre,  allusion  to 
Pozzuoli,  338 

D'Urfe,  122 


"  Eagle-Catchers,"  The  (87th 
Regiment),  4 

Edward,  son  of  King  John  of 
Portugal,  and  his  expedition 
against  Tangier,  25 

Egypt,  variety  of  interest  con- 
nected with,  238 ;  inscribed 
stone  at  Rosetta,  257;  agri- 
cultural wealth  of,  258;  the 
"  gift  of  the  Nile,"  259;  Eng- 
lish expedition  of  1807,  256 

Elba,  quarries  and  mines 
of,  203;  Napoleon's  confine- 


356 


INDEX 


ment,  plans  for  improving 
the  island,  and  his  escape, 
203-206. 

El  Hacho,  signal-tower  at  Gib- 
raltar, 1 6,  26 

Elliot,  General,  Monument  at 
Gibraltar  to,  13 ;  the  siege  of 
Gibraltar,  17,  1 8 

English  statuary,  Defective,  13 

Eryx,  318 

Esparto  grass,  56 

Esperandieu,  and  the  church  of 
Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde, 
Marseilles,  117  • 

Estepona,  23 

Esterel,  The,  148,  150 

Etna,  295-303 

Etruscans,  The,  211 

Euganean  Hills,  The,  230 

Eugenie,  Empress,  Spanish 
origin  of,  55 

Euroklydon,  The,  at  Malta,  270 

Europa  Point,  Gibraltar,  13; 
cottage  at,  14,  1 8 

Euthymenes,  97 ;  statue  at  Mar- 
seilles, 100 


Falicon,  139,  144 

Famine  at  Genoa,  165 

Ferdinand,  Don,  and  the  Portu- 
guese at  Ceuta,  25 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  recep- 
tion of  Columbus  at  Bar- 
celona, 69,  83 

Ferdinand  IV.,  317 

Ferrat,  Cape,  141 


Fiescho,  Count,  177 

Filfla,  271 

Flower  Market,  at  Marseilles, 
102;  at  Barcelona,  63 

Follonica,  209 

Folquet,  121 

Formica,  209 

Fortifications  of  Gibraltar,  16; 
of  Genoa,  164;  of  Cannes, 
152;  Ventimiglia,  157 

Fortuny,  his  paintings  at  Bar- 
celona, 66,  80 

Fossa  Claudia,  230 

France,  and  the  siege  of  Gib- 
raltar, 16 ;  captures  Genoa, 
164;  and  Barcelona,  84 

Fraser,  General,  and  the  Eng- 
lish expedition  to  Egypt  of 
1807,  256  . 

Frejus,  Gulf  of,  147 

Funeral  at  Venice,  A,  229 

Funerals  at  Barcelona,  75 


Galliera,  Duchess  of,  and  the 
Palazzo  Rosso,  Genoa,  172 

Garibaldi,  Birthplace  of,  126; 
crossing  Calabria,  298;  land- 
ing at  Marsala,  318 

Genoa,  once  a  rival  of  Venice, 
160 ;  its  detractors,  161 ;  the 
beauty  of  its  women,  162; 
history,  163,  164;  old  and 
new  towns,  166 ;  position, 
and  view  from  the  slopes, 
166 ;  mediaeval  churches, 
narrowness  of  streets,  and  the 


INDEX 


357 


palazsa,  168;  the  Via  Nuova, 
170;  Fergusson  on  the  archi- 
tecture of,  171 ;  the  Palazzo 
Ducale,  and  the  Statue  of 
Hercules,  172,  173;  incidents 
in  the  life  of  Doria,  176; 
monument  to  Columbus,  177; 
the  "old  dogana,"  179;  the 
Exchange,  trade  in  coral, 
precious  metals,  and  filigree 
work,  180;  the  cathedral, 
180;  reputed  origin  of,  182; 
church  of  L'Annunziata,  and 
the  Campo  Santo,  182;  the 
environs,  184;  meeting-place 
of  the  Rivieras,  185 ;  railway 
to  Spezzia,  and  places  on  the 
coast,  187 

George  I.,  and  Gibraltar,  22 

Giardini,  298 

Gibel  Mo-osa,  Moorish  name  of 
Ceuta,  26 

Gibraltar,  4 ;  Robert  Brown- 
ing's reference  to,  6;  resem- 
blance to  a  lion,  7 ;  landing 
at,  8 ;  variety  of  nationali- 
ties at,  10 ;  picturesqueness, 
10 ;  population,  u;  strict 
military  regulations,  and 
chief  objects  of  interest,  12, 
13;  Moorish  Castle,  15; 
fortifications,  16 ;  siege  of, 
16-19;  capitulation  to  the 
Prince  of  Hesse,  22;  the 
"  key  of  the  Mediterranean," 

21 

Girgenti,  "  City  of  Temples,-*' 
monuments  of  Pagan  wor- 
shio,  and  Pindar's  designa- 


tion, 307;  Temple  of  Con- 
cord, 309;  Temple  of  Her- 
cules, ravages  of  earthquakes, 
and  Shelley's  allusion  in 
"  Ozymandias,"  311,  312 

Golfe  de  la  Napoule,  148 

Gondolas  of  Venice,  222 

Gothard,  St.,  228 

Gough,  Colonel,  his  defeat  of 
Marshal  Victor  at  Tarifa,  4 

Government  House  at  Gibral- 
tar, 23 

Gozo,  270,  272,  273 

Granada,  17,  59 

Greeks,  at  Gibraltar,  10;  their 
trade  at  Marseilles,  106,  109, 
no 

Grimaldi,  The,  179 

Gros,  Mont,  139 

Grosseto,  209 

Grotto,  at  Malta  and  St.  Paul, 
293;  of  Sta.  Rosalia,  317; 
Di  Posilipo,  335;  at  Capri, 

343 

Guelphs,  The,  and  Genoa,  163 
Guzman,  Alonzo  Perez  de,  and 

his  act  of  defiance  at  Tarifa, 

4 
Gzeier,  271 


H 


Hamilcar    Barca,    and    Pelle- 

grino,  317 
Hamrun,  291 

Harbor  of  Marseilles,  106 
Haroun     al     Rashid,     reputed 

birthplace,  256 


358 


INDEX 


Hepaticas,  Valley  of,  139 

"  Hercules,  Pillars  of,"  i,  2,   5, 

17 

Hercules  and  Temple  at  Gir- 
genti,  311;  Temple  at  Selin- 
unto,  319 

Hesse,  Prince  of,  and  the  ac- 
quisition of  Gibraltar,  22 

Hicks,  Captain,  and  the  siege 
of  Gibraltar,  22 

Hieroglyphics,  Egyptian,  at 
Rosetta,  257 

Hiram,  and  Malaga,  46 

Homeric  era,  "  Pillars  of  Her- 
cules "  in  the,  2 

Honorat,  St.,  149 

Hougoumont,  Chateau  of,  15 

Hyeres,  96,  146 

Hypatia  at  Alexandria,  236 


Iberian  race  of  Genoa,  162 
Imtarfa,  292 
Ischia,  326 

Islands  of  the  Blest,  2 
Israfel,  The  Angel,  and  a  be- 
lief of  the  Moslems,  249 
Ivory  on  houses  in  Tangier,  5 


Jews,  at  Gibraltar,   10 

John  of  Portugal,  King,  takes 

Ceuta  from  the  Moors,  25 
Joseph  of  Arimathea,  and  the 

sacro  catino  at  Genoa,  181 


Jumper,  Captain,  and  the  siege 

of  Gibraltar,  20 
Jupiter,  Temple  of,  at  Ortygia, 

304 


K 


Keats,  Grave  of,  194 


La  Haye,  Farmhouse  of,  15 

La  Mortola,  Point,  157 

Laguna  Morta,  The,  at  Venice, 
^30 

Landslip   at   Roquebrune,    156 

Lane-Poole,  Mr.  Stanley,  and 
the  Nile,  259 

Las  Palmas,  296 

Lazarus,  Legend  respecting,  at 

Marseilles,  116 

Leghorn,  its  dullness,  163;  his- 
tory, and  canals,  201 ;  streets, 
harbor,  trade,  statue  of  Fer- 
dinand, and  burial-place  of, 
Smollett,  202 

Lentini,  302 

Leo,  The  constellation,  and 
Berenice's  locks,  252 

Lepanto.  Battle  of,  221 

Lerici,  and  Shelleyfs  last  days, 
192 

Lerins,  Vincent  de,  at  St.  Hon- 
orat, 149 

Lesseps,  M.  de,  and  the  Suez 
Canal,  264 

Lia,  291 


INDEX 


359 


Library,  Garrison,  at  Gibraltar, 
13;  at  Alexandria,  247 

Lighthouse  of  Ta  Giurdan,  272 

Liguria,  noted  for  the  cunning 
of  its  people,  162 

Ligurian  Sea,  146 

Limpia,  Harbor  and  village  of, 
127 

Lion  of  St.  Mark  at  Venice, 
226 

Lisbon,  21 

Louis  XIV.,  97 ;  and  the  storm- 
ing of  Barcelona,  83 

Luna,  Remains  of,  194 

Lyons,  Climate  of,  90 

M 

Macgregor,  Mr.  John  (Rob 
Roy),  and  the  ruins  of 
Tanis,  263 

Magnan,  The,  139 

Malaga,  95  ;  rapid  development, 
43;  'climate,  general  appear- 
ance, and  convenient  position 
for  excursions,  44;  the  Al- 
puj  arras,  44;  Phoenician 
origin,  46;  history,  48;  water 
supply,  48;  the  vineyards, 
50;  sugar  industry,  51;  Cas- 
tle, Grecian  Temple,  and  the 
Alcazaba,  51 ;  attractiveness 
of  the  women,  54;  harbor, 
53;  Almeria,  55;  Cape  de 
Gatt,  57;  the  Sierra  Tejada, 
the  Sierra  Nevada,  58;  Tre- 
velez  and  Alhendin,  59 ;  Lan- 
jaron,  the  Muley  Hacen,  and 
the  Picacho,  60 


Malamocco,  230 

Malta,  267 ;  ."  England's  eye  in 
the  Mediterranean,"  267 ;  for- 
merly a  peninsula  of  Africa, 
and  its  fertility,  268;  Gozo, 
Comino,  and  Cominetto,  and 
the  Fungus  Melitensis,  270; 
the  Gozitans,  272 

Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,  149 

Maremma,  The,  209 

Marengo,  Battle  of,  165 

Marfa,  274 

Marguerite,  Ste.,  145 

Mariette  Bey  and  the  ruins  of 
Tanis,  263,  264 

Mark,  St.,  at  Alexandria,  236; 
reputed  place  of  burial,  250; 
Lion  at  Venice,  224 

Marriages  of  Greeks  at  Mar- 
seilles, 107 

Marsala,  318 

Marseilles ;  its  Greek  origin, 
and  importance  as  the  capi- 
tal of  the  Mediterranean,  94 ; 
history,  96,  109;  appearance 
from  the  sea,  97;  the  Old 
Port  and  the  Cannebiere, 
98,  99;  the  Bourse,  prome- 
nades, and  statues  of  Pytheas 
and  Euthymenes,  100;  flower 
market  and  the  Prado,  102; 
the  Corniche  road  and  bouil- 
labaisse, 103,  104;  Public 
Garden,  Chateau  d'lf,  and 
the  quays,  105;  harbors, 
Greek  merchants,  and  mar- 
riage customs,  106-108; 
Greek  type  in  the  physique 
of  the  people,  109;  hotels, 


INDEX 


cholera,  plague,  and  the  mis- 
tral, 112,  113;  Palais  des 
Arts  and  the  Church  of  St. 
.Victor,  115,  116;  Church  of 
Notre  Dame  de  la  Garde, 
117;  Chain  of  Estaques, 
fortress,  and  people,  119; 
birthplace  of  distinguished 
men,  121 ;  its  proud  position, 

123 

Martin,  Cap,   156 

Mary,  The  Virgin,  image  at  St. 
Victor's,  Marseilles,  119 

Mascaron,  122 

Massa,  Quarries  and  palace  at, 
197 

Massena,  General,  at  Genoa, 
165 

Mediterranean,  The  deep  inter- 
est connected  with  the  cities 
arid  ruins  on  the  shores  of 
the,  2;  Tarifa,  3,  4;  Tan- 
gier, 4-6;  Gibraltar,  6-18; 
Algeciras,  San  Roque,  and 
Estepona,  23 ;  Ceuta,  25,  26 ; 
Marseilles,  94-123;  Genoa, 
160-191;  Barcelona,  61-93; 
Alexandria,  234-264 ;  Nice, 
124-144;  Malta,  267-294; 
Malaga,  42-60;  Algiers,  28- 
41 ;  Tuscan  Coast,  192-218 ; 
Sicily,  295-324;  Naples,  325- 
350;  Venice,  219-233;  The 
Riviera,  145-159 

Megara,  Bay  of,  303 

Mentone,  103 ;  mountain  paths, 
125,  131 ;  walks  and  drives 
at,  157,  158 

Menzaleh,  Lake,  262,  263 


Mery,  122 

Messina,  route  from  Naples, 
295 ;  general  appearance, 
trade,  cathedral,  university, 
etc ,  297 

Minden,  19 

Mirabeau  imprisoned  at  Cha- 
teau d'lf,  105 

Misada,   291 

Mistral,  The,  112;   at  Nice,  131 

Mole  at  Gibraltar,  9,  14,  15,  20 

Monaco,    description    of,    153, 

155 

Monreale,  Cathedral  and  Ab- 
bey of,  316 

Monte    Carlo,    131,   its   beauty, 

155 
Monte-Cristo  and  Chateau  d'lf, 

105 

Montpellier,  90 

Monuments  to  Elliot  and  Wel- 
lington at  Gibraltar,  13 
Moorish    Castle    at    Gibraltar, 

15 

Moors  in  Gibraltar,  10;  Ceuta 
taken  from  the,  25 ;  in  Spain, 

47 
Mosque  of  the  Djama-el-Kebir 

at  Tangier,  6;    at  Algiers,  31 
Mosques  of  Alexandria,  250 
Murano,  231 
Musta,  292 
Mustapha  Pacha,  251 


N 

Naples,     its     population     and 
trade,  95 ;  beauty  of  position, 


INDEX 


361 


and  charming  environs,  325 ; 
sordid  surroundings  of  the 
port,  327;  streets,  trades, 
and  al  fresco  toilettes,  328; 
Piazza  degli  Orefici,  and  cru- 
elty to  animals,  329,  330; 
snails,  goats,  water  sellers, 
and  chapel  of  St.  Januarius, 
330;  churches  of  Sta.  Chi- 
ara,  S.  Domenico  Maggiore, 
and  S.  Lorenzo,  332;  an- 
tiquities of  National  Mu- 
seum, Capri,  Villa  Nazionale, 
and  Grotto  di  Posilipo,  333; 
"  Corniche  "  of  Posilipo,  and 
Roman  ruins,  335  ;  Pozzuoli, 
335 ;  Monte  Nuovo  and  Av- 
ernus,  337 ;  environs  of  Baiae 
and  Cumae,  and  fascination 
of  Capri,  339 ;  the  drive  to 
Castellamare,  345 ;  Sorrento, 
346;  Amalfi,  347;  Salerno, 

349 

Napoleon,  Wars  of,  and  Tarifa, 
4;  and  Genoa,  165,  181 ;  seiz- 
ure of  Barcelona,  83;  defeat 
at  Alexandria,  251,  255  ;  and 
a  project  for  a  Suez  Canal, 
264;  at  Malta,  287;  confine- 
ment at  Elba,  and  escape, 
203-206;  at  Venice,  222 

Napoleon  III.,  acquires  Nice, 
129 

Negroes  at  Gibraltar,  10 

Nelson,  feasted  at  the  Moorish 
Castle,  Gibraltar,  16;  victory 
at  Aboukir  Bay,  253,  254;  at 
Capraja,  207 

Nervi,  186 


Nevada,  Sierra,  58,  59 

Nicaea,  126,  127 

Nice,  21,  96,  102;  the  Queen 
of  the  Riviera,  124;  moun- 
tains, and  its  detractors,  125; 
three  distinct  towns — Greek, 
Italian,  and  French,  126; 
harbor  and  village  of  Limpia, 
and  its  early  history,  127; 
Castle  Hill,  128;  Rauba 
Capeu,  and  the  mistral,  131 ; 
Italian  division  and  the 
Promenade  du  Midi,  132; 
cathedral  of  St.  Reparate,  the 
modern  town,  and  the 
Promenade  des  Anglais,  133; 
beauty  of  the  private  gar- 
dens, carnival  and  battle  of 
flowers,  134,  135;  the  Jardin 
Public,  quays  on  the  Paillon 
bank  and  casino,  137;  thea- 
tre, Prefecture,  flower  mar- 
ket, the  Ponchettes,  the  Place 
Massena.  the  Boulevards 
Victor  Hugo  and  Dubouch- 
age,  Cimiez  and  .Carabacel, 
138;  suburbs,  139;  the  road 
to  Monte  Carlo,  and  Monaco, 
141 ;  Villefranche,  and  the 
infinite  charms  of,  141 ; 
heights  of  Mont  Alban,  and 
the  Magnan  valley,  143 ; 
"  gloriously  beautiful,"  144 

Nicholas  Alexandrowitch,  The 
Czarewitch,  death  at  Nice, 
138 

Nile,  The,  alluvial  deposit,  237 ; 
battle  of  the,  253;  fertilizing 
properties,  260 


362 


INDEX 


Nimes,   no 

Notabile,  antiquity  and  manu- 
factures, 290;  cathedral  and 
churches,  292 

Nuovo,  Monte,  337 


"  Oceanus  River,"  designation 
of  the  Atlantic  in  Homeric 
times,  2 

Octavius,  defeat  of  Antony  at 
Mustapha  Pacha,  251 

Odessa,   123 

O'Hara's  Folly,  tower  at  Gib- 
raltar, 17 

Orange,  no 

Oranges,  at  Spezzia,  189 

Ortntello,  Etruscan  relics  at, 
210 

Ortygia,  Island  of,  303 ;  temple 
of  Jupiter,  and  the  Latonia, 
304;  Greek  Theatre,  305 

Ostia,  216,  217 

Ostrogoths,  The,  and  Mar- 
seilles, 109 


Paestum,  Temples  of,  349,  350 

Paillon,  The,  139 

Paintings    in    the    Palais    des 

Arts,  Marseille:;,  115 
Palazzi,    The,    of    Genoa    and 

Venice,   168 
Palermo,  312;   first  impressions 

disappointing,  and  the  impos- 


ing aspect  of  the  streets, 
312;  the  Palazzo  Reale,  315; 
the  Cappella  Palatina,  church 
of  Martorana,  and  the  Cathe- 
dral, 316;  observatory,  Mon- 
reale,  316;  museum,  and  the 
rocks  of  Pellegrino,  etc.,  321, 
322;  the  Piazza  Marina,  322; 
its  beauty  at  sunset,  323 

Pallanza,    147 

Pammilus  of  Megara,  and  the 
founding  of  Selinus,  319 

Pastoret,  122 

Patrick,  St.,  at  St.  Honorat, 
150 

Paul,  St.,  wrecked  at  Gzeier, 
271 ;  popularity  at  Malta, 
293 

Peak  of  Teneriffe,  and  the  rock 
at  Ceuta,  27 

Pegli,  186 

Pellegrino,  Monte,  316,  317 

Pellew,  Admiral,  and  the  de- 
struction of  the  pirate  fleet, 
215 

Pelusium,  ruins  of,  263 

Perini  del  Vaga,  his  frescoes 
at  Genoa,  175 

Petrarch,  333 

Pharos  of  Tarifa,  The,  3 

Philip  V.,  22;  bombards  Bar- 
celona, 83 

Phocaea,  94 

Phoenicians,  their  designation 
of  Ceuta,  26;  at  Marseilles, 
95;  and  Malaga,  46 

Pianosa,  206;  historical  asso- 
ciations, 206 

Pietra  Santa,  197 


INDEX 


363 


Pietro  Negro,  271 

"  Pillars  of  Hercules."  I ;  in 
Homeric  times,  2,  r»  24,  96 

Pindar  and  his  designation  of 
Agrigentum,  308 

Piombino,  207 

Pirates  of  Barbary,  97 

Pisa,  rival  of  Genoa,  163; 
Cathedral,  Campo  Santo, 
baptistry,  and  leaning  tower 
of,  198,  199 

Plague,  The,  at  Marseilles,  112, 
113;  at  Palermo,  317 

Pliny,  247 

Polyphemus  and  Aci  Reale, 
198 

Pompey's  Pillar,  247 

Pons,  St.,  139 

Populonia,  207;  defeat  of  Lars 
Porsenna  of  Clusium,  and 
possession  by  the  Etruscans, 
208 

Port  Said,  258;  coaling  sta- 
tion, 262 

Porto    (Tuscany),   216,   217 

Portugal,  King  John  takes 
Ceuta  from  the  Moors,  25 

Pozzuoli,  Bay  of,  326,  334,  335 ; 
town  of,  335 ;  allusion  of 
Alexandre  Dumas,  338 

Prim,  Monument  to,  at  Bar- 
celona, 69 

Proserpine,  Temple  of,  at 
Imtarfa,  292 

Ptolemy  Philadelphus  and  the 
Temple  of  Arsenoe,  252 

Punta  de  Africa,  The,  the 
African  Pillar  of  Hercules, 
24 


Pyrgos,  214 

Pytheas,    97;     statue    at    Mar- 
seilles, IOO 


Quarry  of  the  Cappucini,  305 


R 


Rabato,  272 

Rameses,   and  Pelusium,  263 

Ramleh,  251 

Rapallo,  Bay  of,  186 

Raphael,   175 

Raphael,  St.,  146 

Raymond  des  Tours,  121 

Recco,  1 86 

Revolution,  French,  and 
Venice,  222 

Riva,  147 

Riviera,  The,  general  aspect, 
145 ;  origin  of  name,  146 ; 
extent,  and  climate,  147; 
the  Esterel,  Agry,  Golfe  de 
la  Napoule,  148;  Ste.  Mar- 
guerite, and  St.  Honorat, 
149;  Cannes,  150-154;  Mon- 
aco, 153;  Monte  Carlo,  155; 
Mentone,  155,  158;  Roque- 
brune,  156,  157;  Bordighera, 
and  San  Remo,  158;  Alassio 
and  Savona,  159 

Riviera  di  Levante,   146,   185 

Riviera  di  Ponento,  146,  185 

Rodney,  Lord,  and  the  siege  of 
Gibraltar,  i§ 


INDEX 


Roger  II.,  314 

Rogers,  Samuel,  ori  Andrea 
Doria,  173 

Romans,  The,  at  Marseilles, 
97,  no;  at  Genoa,  162;  at 
Nicaea,  128;  at  Malaga,  46 

Ronda,  Mountains  of,   17 

Rooke,  Sir  George,  and  the 
siege  of  Gibraltar,  21 

Roquebrune,  156;  quaint  story 
connected  with,  156 

Rose,  The  Chevalier,  and  the 
plague  of  Marseilles,  113 

Roses  of  the  Riviera,  145 

Rosetta,  253 ;  reputed  birth- 
place of  Haroun  Al  Rashid, 
256;  English  expedition  of 
1807,  256;  archaelogical  dis- 
coveries, 258 

Rosia  pay,  Gibraltar,  14,  20,23 

Rostang,  121 

Rusellae,  211 

Ruskin,  Professor,  on  St. 
Mark's,  Venice,  223,  224 


Sacro   catino,   The,   at   Genoa, 

181 

Sahel  Mountains,  The,  30 
Sais,  263 

Salerno,  temples  at,  349 
Salles,  De,  121 
Salmun,  293 

Salvian,  at  St.  Honorat,  150 
San  Remo,  131,  158,  159 
San  Roque,  23 
San  Salvador,  291 


Santa  Croce,  Cape,  303 
Santa  Marinella,  214 
Santa  Severa,  214 
Saracens,    at    Marseilles,    109; 

at    Genoa,     163;     at    Civita 

Vecchia,  212 
Sarcophagus    of    Ashmuriazar, 

King  of  Sidon,  at  Girgenti. 

308 

Savona,  159 
Savoy,    Counts    of,    and    Nice, 

129 

Scoglio  Marfo,  271 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  295 
Sebta,    or    Septem,    derivation 

of  "  Ceuta,"  25 
Segesta,  319;    temples  at,  320 
Selinunto,    319;     ancient    tem- 
ples at,  320 
Senglea,  289 
Serapeum,  The,  at  Alexandria, 

248 

Serapis,  Temple  of,  236 
Seravezza,  Marble  quarries  at, 

and  Michael  Angelo,  197 
Serpentine  at  Spezzia,  188 
Shakespeare,    allusion    to    the 

Nile,  260 
Sheba,  Queen  of,  and  the  sacro 

catino    in    the    cathedral    of 

Genoa,  181 
Shelley,  last  days  at  Lerici,  and 

death,  192,  193 
Shovel,  Sir  Cloudesley,  and  the 

siege  of  Gibraltar,  21 
Sicily,     appearance     from     the 

sea,  295;    Messina,  296,  297; 

Taormina,    297,    298;     Etna, 

and    Aci    Reale,    299,    300; 


INDEX 


365 


Ortygia,  303;  Syracuse,  303 : 
Girgenti,  307;  Palermo,  312- 
318;  San  Guiliane,  318; 
Selinunto,  318;  Monte  Pel- 
legrino,  322 

Siege  of  Gibraltar,   17-20 
Sierra  of  the  Snows,  The,  17 
Simos     and     Protis,     supposed 

founders  of  Marseilles,  94 
Smollett,     Tobias,     Grave     of, 

202 

Snails  as  an  article  of  diet,  330 
Soldiers  at  Gibraltar,  n 
Sorrento,  130,  345 ;    and  Tasso, 

346 

Sovana,  211 

Spain,  Rock  of  Calpe,  2 ;  land- 
ing of  first  Berber  Sheikh, 
3 ;  antiquity  of  the  Moorish 
Castle,  Gibraltar,  15;  driven 
from  Gibraltar,  19;  acquires 
Ceuta,  25;  and  Columbus, 
178;  the  most  Catholic  coun- 
try in  the  world,  74 ;  great 
number  of  holidays,  87; 
Caballero,  lady  novelist,  88; 
piquancy  of  the  women,  91 ; 
unsettled  condition  of,  92 
Spanish,  The,  at  Gibraltar,  n 
Spanish  Succession,  War  of 

the,  22 

Spezzia,  Scenery  around,  160; 
arsenal  of,  168;  exquisite 
scenery  and  remarkable  sit- 
uation, 187;  oranges  at, 
189;  villages  around,  190; 
harbor  and  men-of-war,  191 ; 
Bay  of,  192 


Stanfield's  painting  of  Vico, 
346 

Statuary,  English,  its  inferior 
character,  13 

Stone,  Egyptian,  with  inscrip- 
tion, at  Rosetta,  257 

Strabo,  247 

Stromboli,  317 

Suez  Canal,  96,  123;  construc- 
tion by  M.  de  Lesseps,  a 
dream  realized,  264 

Syracuse,  interest  and  beauty 
of,  303 


Taggia,  158 

Talamone,  211 

Tangier,  Bay  of,  4;  distant 
view  and  features  of  the 
town  of,  5;  expedition  of 
Edward,  son  of  King  John 
of  Portugal,  against,  25 

Tanis,  Ruins  of  (Zoan  of  the 
Old  Testament),  263 

Taormina,  297;  elevation  of, 
298;  beautiful  prospect  and 
ruins  of  Greek  theater,  299 

Tarascon,  96 

Tarif  Ibn  Malek,  first  Berber 
sheikh  who  landed  in  Spain, 
3 

Tarifa,  The  Pharos  of,  3;  the 
arms,  town,  and  history  of, 
4 

Tarquinii,  Ruins  of,  212 

Tasso  and  Sorrento,  346 

Tejada,  Sierra,  58 


366 


INDEX 


Teneriffe,  296 

Termini,   312 

Terral,  The,  of  Malaga,  43 

Tete  de  Chien,  153 

Thackeray  and  bouillabaisse, 
104 

Theodore,  St.,  statue  at  Venice, 
226 

Thiers,  M.,  122 

Tiber,  The,  215 

Tintoret,  175 

Titian,   175 

Torcello,  the  ancient  Altinum, 
231 

Torre  dell'  Annunziata,  Manu- 
facture of  macaroni  at,  345 

Trajan,  founder  of  Civita  Vec- 
chia,  216 

Tramontana,  The,  of  the  Rivi- 
era, 43 

Trapani,  318 

Trevelez,  59 

Trinacria,  318 

Turbia,  The,  103 

Turks,  at  Gibraltar,  10 

Tuscan  coast  (see  Lerici,  Sar- 
zana,  Carrara,  Pisa,  Leghorn, 
Elba,  Civita  Vecchia,  etc.). 


U 


University    of    Barcelona,    80; 

of  Velletta,  286 ;   of  Messina, 

297 
Urban  V.,  Pope,  and  the  church 

of  St.  Victor,  Marseilles,  116 


Valletta,  267;  fortress,  build- 
ings, population,  and  abund- 
ance of  labor,  274,  275;  the 
Port,  275;  military  station, 
and  peculiar  construction, 
276;  Strada  Reale,  278;  the 
people,  and  public  buildings, 
280;  the  Knights,  and  vari- 
ous sieges,  284 ;  military  hos- 
pital, 286 ;  the  University  and 
the  prison,  286;  visit  of 
Bonaparte,  and  the  Strada 
Mezzodi,  287;  suburbs,  289; 
Notabile  and  Hamrun,  290; 
popularity  of  St.  Paul,  293; 
cathedrals,  293,  294 

Vanderdussen,  Rear-Admiral, 
and  the  siege  of  Gibraltar, 

22 

Vegetation  at  Marseilles,  104 

Veii,  212 

Venice,  95,  122 ;  contrasted 
with  Genoa,  160;  rival  of 
Genoa,  163;  the  palaszi  of, 
168;  a  town  unequalled  in 
Europe,  and  general  aspect, 
219;  history,  221 ;  formation 
and  shape,  222;  view  of  San 
Marco  from  the  Piazza,  223- 
226 ;  date  of  erection,  restora- 
tion, and  interior  of  St. 
Mark's,  225 ;  view  from  the 
Molo,  and  the  Grand  Canal, 
226,  227;  a  funeral,  229;  is- 
lands sheltering  it  from  the 
sea,  230-232 


INDEX 


367 


Ventimiglia,    Fortifications    of, 

157 
Venus,    Temple    of,    shrine   at 

Eryx..  318 

Venus  Zephyrites,  252 
Vesuvius,  161,  326 
Viareggio,    Recovery    of    Shel- 
ley's body  at,  193,  198 
Vico,  346 
Victor,    Marshal,    dispersal    of 

his  army  by  Colonel  Gough 

at  Tarifa,  4 
Villa    Franca,    21 ;     treaty    of, 

129;    picturesqueness  of,  141 
Virgil,  reference  to  the  cunning 

of  Ligurians,  161 ;    the    Ely- 

sian  Fields,  338 
Visigoths,  The,  109 
Vittoriosa,  289 
Vulcano,  317 


W 

Wade,  Marshal,   13 

War  of  the  Spanish  Succession, 

22 


Wauchope,  General,  at  Rosetta, 
256 

Wellington,  Monument  at  Gib- 
raltar to,  13 

Whittaker,  Captain,  and  the 
siege  of  Gibraltar,  22 

Women,  of  Genoa,  162;  re- 
strictions at  the  Cathedral  of 
Genoa  against,  181 ;  of  Spain, 
92;  of  Nice,  129;  their  at- 
tractiveness at  Malaga,  54; 
of  Naples,  328 ;  of  Capri.  342 


Xerxes,  94 


Young,  Dr.,  and  the  Egyptian 
stone  at  Rosetta,  258 


Zerka,  273 


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